


Change of Pace

by aurorae



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Monster Falls, Bill doesn't understand nor care about the concept of personal space, Body Modification, Canon divergence after Land before Swine, M/M, Mild emotional manipulation, No Age Alterations, Object head!Bill, Possessive Behavior, Tentacles, the graphic violence tag only pertains to bill and how he deals with external forces
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3414566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurorae/pseuds/aurorae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper's act of goodwill mistakenly transforms the citizens of Gravity Falls into monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is pmuch going on the basis that dreamscaperers and gideon rises doesnt happen w/ a lil changes youll be seeing here and there. heed the tags (with more to come probably) + warnings!!!!
> 
> if yall ever got a question now or along the way theres a link on this profile :^)

“You might be onto something…these yahoos will drink anything at this point, and with our labels, we’ll be getting customers in boatloads!” Rubbing his hands at the prospect of a new method of increasing the influx of currency to the Mystery Shack, Stan chuckled heartily.

Dipper grinned modestly as Stan considered his idea, a plan which would benefit not only the Pines trio but also the other residents of Gravity Falls. The small town was suffering from the impact of a two-day storm, which disheveled the landscape. A flurry of clumped leaves cluttered the forest, scattered across the remnants of lush greenery in deep, discolored puddles. The cautionary creaks of large, curled boughs yielded to the mass of small woodland creatures traversing from branch to branch, navigating copses covered with debris. The howling, brisk wisps of wind subsided overnight, as did the tapping of the thin, wiry branches against their bedroom window in the unsettling hours of dawn. Later in the morning, the aged and unstable pipes of the water supply lines ruptured, and Shandra Jimenez disclosed that information accompanied by images of the aftermath and interviews of the citizens as they panicked while seeking out an alternate water resource.

Dipper informed Stan of a river running through a fork in the greenery of the forest. The recent storm devastated the rest of the town, but the water in the river was crystal clear, free of impurities. Dipper suggested this river, despite its abrupt manifestation, could become what the townspeople needed in their desperation to regain a pure drinking source. To deter his granduncle from objecting to his idea as a form of charity, he amended his comment to suggest a Mystery Shack label to be mass produced as stickers and pasted onto water bottles – the sale and distribution would appease Stan’s desire for income, while Mabel cheerfully volunteered to assist in creating the labels, which the twins would advertise to the town. Dipper spluttered in surprise when his granduncle encouragingly kneaded his head through the hat with his knuckles, and receiving Stan's praise visibly elevated his ego; a pink flush of embarrassment settled into his cheeks, and the corners of his lips twitched to form a humble smile.

The extraneous effort of mining water from the river took a visible toll on the twins’ stamina within hours of lugging the fifty-five gallon barrels to and fro – their brief reprise entailed sitting in each other’s company at the kitchen table, their postures slumped, their prolonged groaning muffled by the cedar countertop plastered against their face – and when they were not carrying large containers of water, they would be busy swabbing mineral oil on Soos’ fingers or wrists to remove the glue he somehow bonded on his skin while making the labels.

Despite Wendy’s initial reluctance to facilitate another one of her boss’ overpriced schemes, her interest was rekindled when she was given the opportunity to work outside the Shack’s proximity for a few hours, rather than have her attention ebb away at the register. At midday, the operation to advertise the water bottles ceased, and everyone returned to the gift shop; the populace succumbed to the favorable tagline of “natural spring water” in large, aggressive swarms to purchase the remainder of his inventory. Stan discarded his clothing when he returned after his fourth visit to the town, now clad in his old cotton white shirt and boxers, and he expressed a sound of satisfaction as he situated himself on his recliner, counting each crisp green bill one by one in a pleased tenor.

Exhaustion permeated the living room, where there was an established ambience of tired moans, accompanied by mumbles proclaiming their drained state of body and mind. As a reward for their work, Dipper clutched the unsold bottles and tossed them at his friends and family: a toast to their expended time and effort for the day. Soos also chirped a warm commemoration to the empty bottle of mineral oil, which was once filled to the brim, scarce of any fluid.

Everyone guzzled down the water in their bottles, the plastic crackling under the weights of their fingers pushing on the base, but after taking a small sip, Dipper knitted his eyebrows together to regard his bottle more closely, a look of slight disdain crossing his face. The remnants of a mild, metallic aftertaste sent a shudder down his spine, and the chill of goosebumps erupted on his arms. Parched but not desperate, he set aside the plastic bottle in favor of observing everyone else with a content countenance as he busily fluttered his folded legs, waiting for the possibility of Mabel detecting the odd, unfamiliar taste. He spared his observation for a few minutes, yet Mabel chatted amiably and displayed no indication of noticing the unfamiliar tang, so he shrugged casually and directed his attention to the television.

The ongoing afternoon remained uneventful, and after night fell, Wendy and Soos bade the Pines a jaded farewell. Weary themselves, the twins shared mundane quips regarding the film being broadcasted on television as their heavy eyelids lulled their consciousness to the brink of slumber. Stan’s resounding snores blurred their focus of the bright, illuminated projection until their declining attention succumbed to a rewarding night of slumber.

Within the span of an hour, a cold draft stirred Stan awake. Stifling a moan of discomfort from the ache in his back, he rose from his recliner chair, and with sluggish steps and traces of late-night disorientation possessing his vision, he scooped up the twins sprawled over each other on the hardwood floor. Jarring their door open with the tip of his slipper, he set the children on their respective beds, then a nagging voice in the cornerstones of his mind provoked a grunt to rumble in his throat. He overlapped their bodies with their blankets, reluctantly and unsure of himself, as he struggled to tuck the woolen material under tiny arms without watering down his pride to tend and care for his niece and nephew.

Stan cocked his head to the side and examined his shoddy efforts with a hardened gaze but resigned himself to a shrug. He retreated to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Dipper used his arm to shield his face from the long, low-leveled branches that scraped against his skin like prickly needles. His respiration and heart rate were accelerating as the scenery of the grasslands seemed to constrict around him. The sounds of the nocturnal wildlife dwindled into a choking, eerie silence as he raced further through the narrowing clearing. Terror seized his throat, and cold air spurred the burn in his chest, making it burn more as his gasps for air increased in intensity and frequency. He kept calling for Mabel's name amidst the thickening darkness of the daunting, skewed trees as they converged closer to his path. He could not pinpoint his location in the murky forest, and a minor sense of discomfort arose in the back of his mind when he attempted to recall his hand-drawn maps, which would offer but not rectify his current circumstances and might alleviate his heightened paranoia or stop the cold sweat beading under his matted fringe.

Dipper slowed to a halt and slumped forward, resting his hands atop his knees so he could regain his breath and maybe lessen the tightness in his chest, brought on by his exhaustive wheezing. He blinked a few times to ensure both his mind and health was leveled, yet his breath hitched in a soft, surprised gasp when a rivulet of colors pooled under the soles of his sneakers.

Regarding his surroundings, he straightened himself, his mouth gaping in combined awe and horror as the scenery around him bled of all its color. A series of heterochromatic purple dyes blanketing the horizon fell from the night sky in large globs, dripping into the amassing puddle that was steadily climbing up his ankles, and the forest was drenched by streaks of dreary and disheartening grays. His voice cracked under the tension stiffening his shoulders when he caught the faint sound of something rustling beyond him. "Is…is anybody there…?"

Met with a mingled amount of disappointment and relief that the noise had ceased, Dipper lowered his hunched shoulders, his apprehension whisked away with a quiet exhale.

"Well, well, well! And here I thought you'd never ask!" a voice resonated with an animated cheer in their tone, a chuckle echoing toward the end of the sentence when Dipper squeaked under his breath and his shoulders regaining a visible tremor.

He felt unsettled by the darkness that seeped past the curved trees, tendrils of a thinning black fog slithered under branches, coiled over trees, and snaked around his immobile frame before circling around his neck. His heart leaped in his throat when the blackened mass revealed a large sclera in the den of the forest, its elongated pupil honing on him.

It paused for a thoughtful moment, considering the desire to humor the confusion and fright riddling Dipper's face. "Let me ask ya something, kid: you see yourself as a human, right?"

Dipper stammered a distrustful and uncertain, “Y-yeah?”  

"It's funny how _dead_ wrong you are! You see, there is something pre-e-etty hungry prowling your home, and it’s coming after you and your sibling! Now before you go pointing fingers, no, this wasn’t _my_ doing: this was entirely _your_ handiwork."

Dipper's hardened gaze softened, and misery laced his voice as he croaked, "It was…it was my fault? What…what did I do?! **"** Leering at the supernatural entity with doubt, he added hastily, "Why are you telling me this? What’s in it for you?”

A gale of laughter severed the deafening silence. "Always on guard, I like that about you already! Divulging a mistake this grave is a blast, and your expressions have been an absolute delight." Disregarding Dipper's angry huff, the disembodied voice continued, "Speaking of which, the only thing you have _yet_ to do is witness your new form, and frankly, I find it rather endearing."

The circular mist materialized into a slick, black tentacle tipping his chin upward. Detecting the fear that provoked Dipper’s twitching mouth into a frightened frown, the thin appendage brushed against the contours of his jaw. Slowly, carefully, and in gentle adoration, it brushed the loose strands of hair behind his ear. Dipper recoiled under the unwarranted gesture, his eyebrows knit together, and his nose wrinkled in sheer disdain, yet he could not bring himself to wipe the slime coating the shell of his ear.

"Gravity Falls contains a surplus of supernatural force, naturally because the creatures living in this town are magically born, whereas your kind, mystically inept as you are, are _not_. You perceive yourself in the dreamscape—this place _all_ around you—as the same awkward child within your plane of reality—now, now, no need to look so riled!—when, in fact, you changed yourself, as well as everybody else in Gravity Falls! You doubled, perhaps even tripled, the supernatural forces in this town. If it weren't for you, my chances to bre—to _return_ here would’ve been zip, nada, _none_!"

Hesitating to pose an intrusive question when he peered at the appendage cradling his cheek, Dipper gathered his remaining courage and cleared his throat, his hands bawling into tight fists until the row of knuckles turned white. "Are you…evil?"

The entity did not respond. Slowly, the wriggling tentacle parted from his face, and for a moment Dipper's frayed emotions reached a panicking pinch when the brightly emanating sclera vanished in the darkness. Braving a cautious step forward, the opaque whiteness reappeared to retort in amusement, "You can decide that for yourself."

Dipper exhaled through his nose, suppressing his exasperation. "If…if it's okay to ask…what did you mean everyone has transformed…?"

"Exactly what it implies! Your little plan failed to consider the magical components in the water that, essentially, transformed every human who was dumb enough to drink it into supernatural creatures. To think the tables have turned, and you unnatural hybrids are the monsters now! Insatiable," it enunciated airily, swooned by the notion, "and carnivorous in your hunting hour when the frenzy distorts your perception and rationale. Family, companions, and lesser creatures like you and your sibling are targets to the ravenous appetites of those who you once invested your trust in." The voice hummed playfully, "Clock’s ticking, kid, and Stanford is creeping down your hallway.“

Before Dipper could succumb to the gravity of his mistake harboring within him, sputter a frenzied plea or a broken sob, or even interject with a semblance of hostility over the black mass’ knowledge of his family or his granduncle's name, the tentacle pressed itself against his lip, ushering him into silence.

"Although it would be one big, fun revelation on your behalf, I’m willing to reveal this much because we’re both in need of a favor.” Dipper’s breath hitched when the whites of the eye flashed blue, but the wave of relief was instantaneous as the unnatural color swiftly regained its bright coloration, prompting an explanation to follow in a dull, monotonous manner, “Your sister is dying on her bed right now. Her transformation is dependent on water, not your polluted, wasteful oxygen. You will realize, in the situation that calls for your escape, either you alone will die, or both you and your sibling will become the main feast. Now, consider the following: imagine the suffering of _poor_ ol’ Stanford when his consciousness surfaces as the hunting hour reaches its end. In his maw could be his cherished niece, or it could be _both_ of your mangled bodies." The tentacle parted from Dipper’s face again, swiping gently at the beads of tears cascading over the grooves of his mouth.

"I have a proposition that can only be granted under your _kind_ approval. All you gotta do is break the pesky seal trapping me in the dreamscape so I can gain sentience in your state of reality. In exchange, I will not only transport your sister to a lake, but I can also guarantee the area will be protected from any creature that carries the malicious desire to rip her limb from limb," it promised, emphasizing the end of its remark cynically. "Consider it a safe place if you choose so when the people you formerly knew become rabid beyond recognition."

The slithery appendage unwinded from Dipper’s neck to drift to his wrist, then the tentacle morphed grotesquely, appearing on the verge of degradation as it expanded and drooped black bile until it resembled a human-like hand. Intimidated by both the roaring blue flame enshrouding the offered gesture and complying with the vague terms of their binding agreement, Dipper sniffled before shooting an unwavering look to the eye tilted at an angle, like it was lolling its head to observe his actions.

"What's your name?"

"About time you asked," it parroted from earlier. "The name’s Bill Cipher."

Sighing through his nose, Dipper clamped his hand against Bill's and bit his bottom lip in preparation to recoil from the blistering heat of the flame. "You got a deal, Bill." Mildly surprised when he remain unscathed, he curiously glanced forward at the eye watching him in the distance.

His vision became bleary, yet he could not prevent the hairs on the back of his neck from rising when the shadowy mass revealed a sharp-fanged mouth broadly stretched at the corners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no deer child or object head until next time ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> s/O TO THE BEST PERSON/BETA IN THE WORLD THAT TURNED THIS HUNK OF ILLEGIBLE GARBAGE TO COHERENT GARBAGE thanks dani u big trashlord
> 
>   
> _it was a long night_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i had half of the next chapter done before this recent episode but let me just apologize in advance for unintentionally adding salt to the wound i am so gomen bUT thanks for the positive responses so far and the hits w o w
> 
> on the bright side heres deer child

Groggily propping himself forward, Dipper blearily inspected his bedroom. He reached the conclusion that the uncomfortable dream was merely a figment of his imagination, conceived by horror scenes from the film he fell asleep to. He fumbled under the rapture of blankets smothering his body, and his eyebrows hiked questionably at the unusual tussle he faced while kicking off the sheets. His constant shuffling drew him closer to the edge of his bed before he unceremoniously disregarded his balance and tumbled to the side, he groaned in response at the pulsating ache at the back of his skull. The realization that the room was devoid of its second occupant steadily dawned over him, and he struggled to quickly regain his strength. A frantic, self-consoling chuckle escaped Dipper and disturbed the surrounding silence: he was drawn to the hopeful prospect that Mabel disappeared to the bathroom or succumbed to her growling appetite to fetch a late night snack.

A loud, crackling footstep reverberated outside his closed bedroom door.

Kicking off the blankets hastily, Dipper scrambled to his feet, yet he found himself squeaking in disbelief as his legs quivered beneath him and gave into his weight. Averting his eyes from his door to his body, he uttered a high pitched yelp: his legs were thin, layered with bristly fur colored in an earthy yellow hue, dotted and streaked with pearly white, and his human feet had been replaced by thick, black cloven hooves that trembled under the tension of his frightened fervor. Planting his palms against the rickety floorboards, Dipper gave a horrified grimace – a fluffed tail was tucked between his back legs. He craned his neck to gaze at the triangular window reflecting his ears, pointed and alerted in response to his soft gasp upon his discovery of the tail, and he shook his head slowly in denial of his animalistic form, mouthing the word ‘no’ in a silent mantra.

He shot out a hand to grip the wooden frame of his bed for assistance with his undesired plight for balance as his free hand flailed while he tried to steady himself on his hooves, and slowly but surely the wobbling was reduced to a steady tremor when he stopped thinking about his predicament—how could he control all four legs? Were they like human legs, with which the instinct to draw a step came as a natural bodily response? Was he required to move his legs instantaneously, one in one direction and the other the very opposite? **—** hesitantly he released the bed frame. Cautious of his movements, he teetered in a straight line, but he wholeheartedly laughed when he stumbled slightly in a failed attempt to pad in a complete circle. Dipper accepted the flawed fluidity in his steps when he could not properly station his hooves or bent them in a manner that would incline his body into an uneven lurch at either side.

His brightened disposition faltered when his bedroom door was ripped off its hinges.

Whipping his head in the direction of the vacant door frame, Dipper inhaled sharply after a few seconds when he registered the fact that the passing brownish blur was his missing door as it was violently flung across the hall. Shrinking under the sight of a gray, stony claw clamping onto the former entrance, Dipper’s body refused to cooperate with the speed of his thoughts as they inwardly screamed for him to flee, to hide,

_to move._

Stan advanced into the attic, his imposing weight crushing the floorboards beneath him. His eyes radiated an ominously yellow glow— _The hunting hour,_  Dipper recalled with a heavy gulp, as he came to understand the underlying pretenses of the entity’s warning in his dream—and a snarl revealed the discolored, ivory fangs twitching to sink his maw into any given prey.

_Into me_ , Dipper thought in his panic. Leveling his voice, Dipper spoke softly to his granduncle, “He-Hey now, it’s me! Dipper! Don’t you recognize me, Grunkle Stan?” Met with a growl rising in octaves, Dipper’s voice delved into a broken, dejected tenor. “…Don’t you…?”

Stan heaved a hefty grunt when he struck the wall with his elbow. The new expanse of space under the haphazard destruction had previously obstructed the sight of his fully stretched and expanded wings barricading the large gaps that would have provided Dipper with a dull shimmer of hope to escape. Dipper motioned his hooves to retreat to Mabel’s side of the bedroom; he bit his tongue to suppress the jitter to scurry in a hurried manner, but feared the repercussions of Stan’s savage hostility if he moved at a faster pace. The scenario, much to his chagrin, flooded his mind: he would be huddled in the corner, unable to vocalize his whimpers, until his granduncle eventually dug his talons into his neck.

Discreetly he was able to blindly grope at his sibling’s bed, his hand slipped under her plush pillows as he shuddered at the gelid metal radiating on his fingertips— _It’s all or nothing,_  he thought—surveying his possibility of survival by shifting his focus from the advancing gargoyle to the frame of the door, Dipper steeled his efforts to focus his trajectory between the stony furrows of Stan’s eyebrows.

Stan was visibly startled by the appearance of the grappling hook and seemed unable to identify the familiar sight of Mabel’s often utilized instrument in his carnivorous frenzy, so Dipper seized the initiative amidst his granduncle’s confusion as a reprise to curl his finger around the trigger. The instinctual lapse of self-preservation had Stan deflect the metal hook with the back of his palm, and he burst into a blood-curdling roar which lowered Dipper’s ears to drone the chilling battle cry but did not falter his adrenaline, and he tugged on the line with a thoughtful frown. Releasing a nervous exhale through his nose, Dipper tightened his sweaty, loosening grip on the gun to press on the trigger for a second time. Despite himself, he hollered a surprised trill at the force of the retraction as it carelessly grazed his pasterns against the aged floorboard beneath him.

Stan bellowed a beastly screech when he missed his grab at Dipper, who slipped beneath the honed tips of his wings. Glancing over his shoulder at his fleeing prey, he witnessed Dipper rounding the corner before slamming against the wall from the metal hook’s uneven grip against the broken, bent frame of the doorway. Jolting into an upright position, Dipper spared Stan a fearful, forlorn glance: his granduncle—he winced at the notion of correcting himself to designate a gargoyle as his family member— _the monster_  before him had every intention to kill him without hesitation.

Acknowledging his bloodlust, Dipper fled from his family member’s wrath, from the Shack, from  _home_ ,

and just as dryly, he laughed.

For the first time in his twelve years, he never thought transforming into a young deer would have created his new fondness for running.

* * *

Uncertain of how much time had elapsed since he escaped from his granduncle, Dipper slowed to a halt when he stepped into a pile of withering leaves. He surveyed the area to ensure his safety was not in peril – with a heavy heart he drew the conclusion that somewhere in the forest was lurking if not one but several other monsters who were prowling the area as a result of the Mystery Shack’s water bottle gimmick. The only joy he could extract in lieu of his predicament was his improved mobility, which made it faster and easier for him to trek over the slopes and hills and hop from one stone to another on small streams that lacked a proper overpass to navigate through. His small smile wavered as his ears perked, catching the trace of a familiar feminine voice screeching in the distance.

Garnering agility from his mutated form, Dipper quickened his dash through pickets of shrubs and thorny branches, his wobbling legs yielding under the hooks of ingrown branches scraping against his chin as he tumbled to the forest floor. Expelling every breath he held in an aggressive, wheezing puff, he dug his blunt nails into the earth and heaved himself back on his legs. An anger seared in his crinkling, pulsating fingers: he felt foolish and naïve for believing in an entity he could not see, swayed by words of reassurance that Mabel would be protected from all forms of harm—

“No! Please!” she cried. “Anything but that! Please!”

Ducking under the bough of a tree, he squinted to make out a pair of figures in the distance: Mabel—an aquatic pink tail glistened in the water, and dampened hair, adorned with vines of kelp tangled in the strands, splayed over her thin shoulders and cascaded down her star-speckled patterned bandeau. Dipper balked,  _She’s a mermaid, how could this get any worse?_ —motioned her folded hands forward and backward rapidly in a pleading motion to the creature towering before her. In the stark night, tinged in tones of a deeply setting purple, a glowing triangular object hovered over its detached body. The humanoid figure was clad in a darkened gold suit, the tailcoat spread behind its black pants projected a spectrum of spiraling interstellar plumes, and it held one gloved hand behind its back, with the other holding an object which Dipper could not distinguish in the darkness.

Dipper lowered himself on his withers, his hoof aggressively dragging into the soil, anger rising to a feverish pitch. Setting aside his own rationality and safety, he charged at the creature who appeared to be threatening his sibling—

“Awww!” she whined, morosely observing the creature as it dug its cane in a fine line to create the leg of a stick figure. “I thought I was close this time!”

Dipper’s running trot came to a halt, and he braked his hooves in muddled, careful steps in front of his sister and her companion of unidentified species. Darting his gaze to the familiar streaks etched into the dampened soil, he quirked his head - hangman. The pair was casually entertained by hangman. Upon further inspection, he noticed that the stick figure had all but one of its limbs after suffering through Mabel’s attempts to fill in the missing letters in the ten blank spaces: _ i l l   _ i _ h _ r

“Oh, Dipper! Come over here!” she waved her arms frantically. “You should help me solve this, you’re good at this stuff! I’m trying to figure out this guy’s name!” She paused for a moment and took in her brother’s appearance, spluttering a surprised squawk. “Oh…my gosh…you’re a  _deer!_  You… You even got super cute deer ears! Hey, hey! Triangle guy!” she exclaimed excitedly, darting her finger in Dipper’s direction while gesturing to the stranger with her other hand to readdress his attention. “That’s him! That’s Dipper! He’s-“

“We’ve met,” it said whimsically, its shoulders bobbing up and down in a quiet chortle. “Look at that, you’ve made it past the hunting hour! I must say, I’m impressed enough to give you a pat on the back, but as you can see, my attention is a bit preoccupied here.” It mirrored Mabel’s hand gesture with its cane, and the mimicry elicited an elated guffaw from her.

Voice cracking, Dipper asked the triangle-headed being, “Are you Bill? Bill Cipher?”

The cane had vanished from sight, and he turned on the balls of his heels to regard Dipper with a playful glint in his eye, prominent fanged teeth revealing a glaringly wide smile. “The one and only, kid! Actually, why don’t you join us,” he coaxed, his amused disposition not faltering under Dipper’s reluctance when he displayed no indication of advancing forward. Fixing the tie around his neck with one hand, Bill exaggerated his lament, “Your sister is alive and thriving, but I get the short end of the stick?” He raised his free hand, the white gloved material darkening as a snare of black, thin wispy filaments enveloping the cuff of his wrist materialized into multiple writhing tentacles, slick with a transparent sheen.

Dipper’s mouth gaped open at the rivulets of black bile slithering down the appendages, and he was too distracted to register the quick, fluid motion as the tentacles extended in length to entangle his morphed torso.

“I  _insist_ you join us.” Cackling under his breath, Bill flicked his wrist to propel Dipper forward with a rushed, frightening velocity. He barely had the chance for his breath to hitch before he dizzily looked upward, peering at the figure looming over him. Eyes widening under the gaze of a ravenous predator observing the twitch in Dipper’s expression, the fawn’s heart clenched as Bill’s eyelid drew half-closed, and the distance between their faces was a mere inch apart – Dipper was too scared to breathe, much less move, when the tentacles slowly unraveled from his stifle joint and drifted over his arms until they drooped in lazy coils around his neck. “So how about it, huh? Just one  _little_  ‘thanks’ is all it’ll take for me to overlook this attitude of yours.”

The silence drawn from the combination of Bill’s impatience and Dipper’s dwindling hesitation to yield to Bill’s insistent demands provoked Mabel’s indignation. With a huffed bellow, she pitched a pebble, which phased through Bill’s triangular head and struck her sibling instead. Faltering in guilt, she whispered an apology in his direction then hardened her gaze on the demon. “This is a bully-free zone! You be nice to my brother!”

Bill disregarded Mabel’s outburst and the sound of her tail angrily splashing against the surface of the water in favor of maintaining his attention on the marginal bead of blood forming on Dipper’s temple from the impact of the tiny, jagged stone. His grin was no longer wild nor deliriously giddy; although it retained the appearance of cheer, Dipper recognized the discernible downward twitch. He regressed the wiry tentacle mutations to conjure his former gloved hand, and with an inexplicable gentleness, Bill raised Dipper’s fringes with his ring finger, his thumb pressing soothing circles on the minor injury.

“Yeesh, kid, quit movin’,” he chided. He lowered his finger to alleviate Dipper’s visible discomfort upon having his birthmark revealed under the tangles of unkempt brown hair. The pressure of the demon’s finger pressing on his bruise struck a twitch in Dipper’s eye, yet the sting was subdued during his calm ministrations.

Ears drooping in response to the softened pressure, Dipper cleared his throat. “You can heal?”

“Yes and no,” he quipped as his pyramidal head quirked to the side, inspecting for other visible scratches marring the boy’s face. “Depends on the situation. As your sister said, I should be nice, so why not?” Weaving his fingers through the wavy locks, he fondly thumbed the ridges of the furred ears, which inadvertently shuddered at his touch. “I’ll lend a hand to a fawn in need.”

From the water, Mabel feigned a cough. “I never thought I would have to say this for you, bro-bro, but wowie! How about some space between you two?”

Bill snickered deviously, complying with Mabel’s unspoken wishes, and he parted from the flustered fawn, who stumbled over half-formed sentences in protest to her claims. After regaining a few ounces of his composure, he casually asked Mabel about her aquatic transformation. She admitted through a whisper that she was unsure whether to pose the question during Bill’s interaction with him. Dipper brushed aside her latter input with a frown but immediately relayed information regarding the mystic water, their water bottle sales, and, much to his dismay, he advised her to remain calm while describing their granduncle’s carnivorous appetite.

Dipper cut his explanation short in consideration of his sister’s dejected mood. His words of reassurance barely raised her normally high driven optimism, so to compensate for dampening his sister’s mood, he nestled beside her on the lake bed so she could rake her fingers through his coarse fur. Content, Mabel resigned herself to the lingering drowsiness, and after bidding the pair a fond goodnight, she splashed her tail playfully before diving into the water’s depths.

Rising on all four legs, Dipper smacked his hands against his face. “How could this be happening? I almost got mauled, my sister is now a talking fish,” digging his fingernails into the beds of his eyes, he stretched his skin to express his frustration, “I made a deal with a creepy demon, and I’m a deer of all things! How can I even fend for myself as a deer?!”

“You must be the ruder half,” Bill interjected.

Dipper prattled further, ignoring the demon’s comment, his visible apprehension lowering his ears. “How can I fix this?  _Can I even fix this...?_  Oh no,” his voice croaked, and his tail retreated between his hind legs, “oh no, oh no, oh no. What if…what if this is _permanent_ …?”

Dipper’s voice fell into a tangent of soft incoherent, panicked murmurs under his breath. His fluctuating temper caused him to lose control of his awareness and disregard his surroundings, his mind was plagued with one consecutive burden after another. Advancing in tentative steps so he would not disturb the fretting fawn who was in the process of submerging his consciousness in guilt, Bill planted his hand on the brown and white speckled barrel. The fawn stiffened under the weight of demon's fingers, but the whispers were reduced to silence as Dipper slowly craned his neck in the direction of Bill’s triangular head. Observing the boy with a neutral countenance, Bill attained a certain glee from the frightened glimmer sheening the dark brown irises, the value Dipper held over his own life conflicting with the inclination to remain in place under any gesture he received.

Weaving his fingers through the thick fur—abrasive unlike the pelt of smaller woodland creatures, and colored in a rustic brown, but beneath the finer white hair, his flesh was flushed a bright pink, warm to the touch,  _delicate_ , and Bill gave a gentle tug at its elasticity—Bill drew lines in the contours of his joints with his gloved thumb, applying a light pressure that piqued Dipper’s interest over the demon’s unnatural enthrallment with his animalistic body.

“I pegged you for a decent listener,” he teased. “Stay within these bounds, and you’ll be safe. That shouldn’t be so difficult, don’t'cha think?”

Dipper responded with a terse silence.

“Stubborn as usual, but delightful all the same. I can appreciate that,” he conceded, and for a deliberate moment, Dipper lowered his guard and submitted to the affectionate strokes against his side. Bill advanced his hand but stopped short so he could hook his finger into the collar of the tattered blue vest, which had been marred by prickly boughs during his escape from Stan, forcing Dipper's head back and observing his slow, blinking eyes while his own took on an amused glint.

His hovering pyramidal head tilted marginally to revere the boyish features of the fawn’s lightly peppered sun-kissed skin, littered with faint, white scars marked by his perils and adventures throughout his summer in Gravity Falls streaked beneath his wild tresses of messy hair. Unaccustomed to the gaze of a human from his years of entrapment, Bill was entertained by the childishly large eyes; however, he suppressed the temptation to stroke his fingers against the protruding ridges of Dipper’s eyelids.

“Know this,” Bill enunciated slowly, his light chuckle juddering his shoulders, “I prefer my possessions unscathed.”

Dipper nodded, uncertain whether to respond.

Minding the existence of the fawn’s hat, Bill kneeled to his level, but his approach only heightened Dipper’s paranoia; having razor sharp teeth bared so closely to his face was frightening, and equally horrifying was the demon’s forked tongue, which was more visible than usual due to its proximity.

“Sweet dreams, Pine Tree,” he whispered at the ear rising steadily in alertness.

Dipper staggered under his weight, his eyelids growing heavy as he watched the colorful, celestial clouds of cosmic dust swirling under Bill’s tailcoat until they consumed his vision; he succumbed to the intensity of a wave of drowsiness seizing his limbs into a state of numb rest. Bill shook his wrist before morphing his hands into several long, wriggling tentacles that coiled around the torso of the teetering young deer. A single tendril propped the boy’s head to the side to prevent a—he blinked, attempting to recall the term lodged in the banks of his memories.  _Strain_ , that was the word, he concluded—strain to the muscles in his  _fragile, human neck._

Setting Dipper in the recess of a large tree, the demon recalled his tentacles to enshroud his wrist, allowing the tendrils at his arms to revert to human-like fingers. Opening his palm, the black cane materialized in his grip, and Bill twirled it in sluggish circles as he approached the border he formed around the perimeter of the forest – transparent to the human eye, including the twins sleeping the night away, he could perceive the yellow force field protecting the proximity.

Digging his cane into the muddy terrain, Bill created a streak, no longer than an inch, across the ridge of the barrier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i had to pull up a diagram on the physical composition of animals ugh the w o r k but again blessins to dani for betaing this even if shes disrespectful lmfao  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introducing my biggest weakness  
> stans soft side ahaha…
> 
> _(┐「ε:)_
> 
> heres a fun game spot the bambi joke

Bright rays of sunlight seeped through small gaps in the tall canopies, and the leaves parted from their branches to cascade gently onto the lake. Gentle currents of wind swayed the crowns of the treetops, and the blades of grass danced in the breeze. The pointed foliage tickled Dipper’s pasterns until he blearily fluttered his eyelids open and shifted in place, and the drowsiness in his vision transitioned into a heightened awareness of his surroundings. His torso was covered by a makeshift blanket of leaves, yet much to his horror, his exposed, mutated legs retained their animalistic appearance.

Clamping both sides of the grooved bark, Dipper hoisted his body onto all four legs with a minor struggle, which caused a tremor to run through his protruding joints, and he wriggled out of the tree hollow and stepped onto the soil. His hind legs experimentally kicked the leaves that had fallen off him and collected into a pile around his hooves. Sparing one last glance at the meadow, his frown tightened in acknowledgement of Bill’s absence—his head was throbbing and filled to the brim with questions for the demon, and he hoped receiving answers to some of those questions would alleviate his fears of the predators in the quiet pasture—but he exhaled through his nose and feigned a confident smile as he approached the lake—he stopped short to examine the unfinished game of hangman with a sneer of disinterest and swiped his hoof against the letters until they faded into the dirt—and cupped the sides of his mouth. At the first call for his sister, a tail splashed from the distance in a friendly gesture before returning beneath the surface of the water. Her shadow reappeared as she advanced to the edge of the lakebed, and her hands were flung forward so she could dig her fingernails into the muddy terrain, tiny shamrocks peeking between the digits—much like the previous night, sea kelp messily clung to the tangled, brown locks—before the upper half of her body was visible in her emergence.

“Morning, Dip!” she cheerfully greeted, her warm smile exposing the metal linings of her braces. Dipper stifled a laugh at his previous one-member pity party as Mabel pushed her hair behind fin-like ears, a thin film of clear membrane between the rays: he was relieved they shared a similar modification to their ears. “I think I’m getting the hang of this mermaid business!”

“I wish I could get used to…this,” Dipper moodily sighed, raking his fingers through the fur on his torso. “Have you seen Bill around?”

Mabel tipped her head to the side and hummed thoughtfully. “He left about an hour ago, maybe? He said he’s got some stuff to do,” she paused, a crinkle knitting her eyebrows that smoothed a moment later as she recalled events from earlier in the morning. “He also dumped a bunch of leaves on you before he booked it.” Mabel shrugged her shoulders. “What a strange guy.”

Dipper’s falsified grin delved into a genuine frown as he rested his thumb beneath his chin, his index finger pensively drumming against his cheek. He considered half of his curiosity was relieved upon his discovery of the unusual manifestation of the bedding of foliage. The other half, however, brought about an uneasy feeling as he weighed his choices: remain in his sister’s company until Bill presumably returns, or solidify his lackluster resolve to return to the Shack while the forest was still basked with the morning glow of the sun and had the most optimal lighting in case he needed to flee again.

Regarding Mabel with a fleeting smile, he retracted his hand from his face as he enunciated his words sympathetically, “Say, if you’re okay with it, I want to check up on Grunkle Stan.” Detecting her chipper mood visibly deflating, he quickly amended his remark, “O-Or I can stay here! There’s no real rush, right?”

“…You know how…stop motion,” her lips pursed as she discussed her fear, her focus trained on the mud caking the beds of her nails rather than directly confronting her brother’s softening expression, “just kinda freaks me out? It’s not as intense, but Grunkle Stan, he…Dipper, what if he _stays_ that way? He could-“

She cut herself off midsentence to submerge her body, withdrawing her hands and plunging several locks underwater so she could occupy her mind and fingers for a brief, solemn moment as she untangled her knots.

After exhaling through his nose, Dipper cleared his throat to even the unsteadiness in his voice. “We’ll be stuck jumping to conclusions unless we investigate, but this time, leave the legwork to me. Once we figure out this whole,” he darted his finger at the pink veiled tail idly splashing against the lake’s surface, “mermaid stuff, we can go back to being-“

Mabel leaped in the water, lively and full of newfound vigor, her grip locked on the mound of pooling mud on the bank of the lake, and the glint in her eyes and smile radiated with energy. “Mystery Twins!” Reveling in the name of their partnership, she burst into a fit of wholehearted giggles on her sibling’s modest behalf. When her laughter subsided into airy chuckles, Mabel spared the landscape another glance before fixing her gaze on the shrubs beyond them. “Hey, how’s about we have something to eat first? Bill did some neat magicky thing and tapped those bushes and I think that tree you were sleeping in? I don’t know how we’ll be getting those apples up there, but I’m pretty sure those are raspberries!”

Lowering his hand, Dipper trotted to the specified shrub and parted the vibrant green undergrowth. His head quirked at the sight of the vines entangled in the branches of the bush nestling an assortment of recognizably non-toxic berries, their fruits neither blemished nor possessing signs of bruising or aging. Plucking a single blackberry from the wiry vines, Dipper pressed his fingertips against the uneven surface until a trickle of dark purple juice gushed between the linings of his nails and flowed over the joint of his thumb.

Moodily glowering at the range of colorful, tiny fruits offered by the missing demon, he suppressed the temptation to rip every single berry off the vines out of spite rather than succumb to his growling hunger roaring in the pit of his belly. Yet the newly inclined herbivore portion of his mind overtook his consciousness as he popped the fruit into his mouth. He anticipated a bitter or flavorless tang but owlishly blinked in surprise as he returned his gaze to his purple-stained fingers. The fruit was edible, flavorful—hungrily, he licked his fingers—and delectable.

Dipper frowned at the negative connotations he had regarded Bill with, and those less-than-desirable opinions were amended after he consumed the demon’s token of consideration. Shaking his head, unable to cast aside all of his hostility and mistrust, Dipper plucked the fruits from their vines, and with his other hand, he gripped the hem of his shirt and stretched it forward so the berries bounced onto the extended fabric. Carrying an abundance of berries in his possession, Dipper returned to Mabel’s side and, for a moment, they ate in peaceful silence, but it was short-lived, lasting until they tried to catch raspberries being tossed into their mouths with limited success.

* * *

Dipper peered at the colorful splotches staining his shirt with a look of disapproval. At the very least, he considered, his return to the Mystery Shack would allow him to reclaim his belongings, as long as his granduncle was preoccupied. His heart pounded in his chest, his furred ears meekly detracted in tense fear, and he absently twiddled his thumbs as his hooves crushed the dead leaves on the path.

Shortly after passing the totem pole, which loomed over his granduncle’s shop and residency, he halted to an immediate stop.

Hugging his arms in a futile attempt to comfort himself, he trotted through the front entrance of the unlocked shop. He frantically examined the illuminated items in the room, searching for a remote trace of movement in the stark darkness of the gift shop. Using a hoof to open the second door, which barred patrons from entering with its handmade “EMPLOYEES ONLY” sign, he slipped into the living room. He bit down on his bottom lip angrily when the door shuddered in a squeak and tried to disregard the rickety screech of the staircase as bullets of sweat trickled down his neck. A wave of relief rushed through Dipper, easing his frazzled nerves, when he spotted his shared bedroom—he laughed quietly to himself: how could he overlook his and his sister’s bedroom while the devastation, rubble, and lack of an actual door remained untouched in the wake of Stan’s rampage—wrinkling his nose at the residue of debris lingering in the air, he practiced his leaps over the larger chunks of wooden planks littering the hall near his bedroom. Confidently striding inside the disarrayed room, his smile faltered into a frown of abysmal dread as soon as he saw a gargoyle looming over a snorting plump pig.

“Get away from Waddles!” Dipper bellowed, inwardly cringing at the high octave of his voice pitched in a cold shout to his own family member. The pig’s snout wiggled in response to his name and casually swerved around Stan’s leg to greet Dipper with a resounding grunt, his beady black eyes directing a calm, curious look at the fawn. Dipper’s eyebrow hiked in confusion: Waddles showed no fear in front of the gargoyle, and Stan’s snarls had yet to reverberate off the walls of the twins’ bedroom.

“Pig’s fine, he was scared at first—wouldn’t blame him either—but after feeding him, he’s back to his usual, freeloading self.” The amused tone lacing Stan’s voice stilled into a guilty, unusually quiet tenor. “Say, Dipper, I’ve been meaning to ask about this mess here, but…” Dipper could see him raise his elbows, presumably inspecting his stony claws and revering his form with a hardened disposition, yet his arms fell to his sides afterward, and his shoulders hunched, a visible flare of emotion drawing his fists to clench shut. “Call it a hunch, but this isn’t something you two knuckleheads caused, was it?”

Dipper scooped Waddles from the floor when the pig rose on his hind legs, stubby pink arms flailing for attention, and his snorts declined in volume and transitioned into a content grunt as he snuggled onto the boy’s thin arms. Shifting his weight uncomfortably from hoof to hoof, Dipper drummed his fingers against Waddles’ warm, pink flesh in an attempt to lighten his nerves. “Maybe—maybe you should turn around first.”

Much to Stan’s dismay, the gargoyle made a soft noise that rumbled in his throat, and despite his mineral-structured composition, there was a visible strain in the hocks of Stan’s form. His hesitation to acknowledge the repercussions of his actions during the hunting hour, previously only part of his ambiguously recalled memories, struck his normally haughty attitude to deflate in one fell swoop. His talons nervously curled against the floorboards beneath him as he confronted his nephew, and his yellow eyes flashed wide open in astonishment, absorbing the crossed form of animal and human, but his jaded grimace indicated his disinterest in commenting on the altered appearance.

“It’s not your fault, Grunkle Stan. We’re all different: you’re a gargoyle, Mabel’s a _mermaid_ , and I’m-“

Despite himself, Stan interjected with a light chuckle. “On the bright side of things, your mother is alive and the forest hasn’t burned down.”

Dipper scoffed in mock disgust, but his moody glower softened into a small laugh of his own. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Teetering in the spirit of good humor, Dipper continued, “Mabel’s fine, you know? She isn’t hurt or anything, she’s taking this mermaid stuff pretty well. Actually, when we were eating this morning, she told me she made friends with the fishes in the lake.”

Stan blinked suddenly and looked up at the ceiling before taking a deep breath and squishing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Of course she would.” His lips were upturned in gentle, optimistic consideration, and the slouch in his shoulders regained a calm composure as the information on his niece smoothed the creases on his face. Withdrawing his hand, he refocused his attention on Dipper’s uneasy grin, and pointedly he told his nephew, “This is out of my usual Stan Pines jurisdiction, but I’m willing to…” retracting his hand, he rubbed his arm distractingly, “apologize…if I did something to you after…whatever happened while I was like this.”

Dipper analyzed Stan’s fretting body language before shaking his head in response. “You shouldn’t have to. This room would’ve never been thrashed in the first place if I didn’t mention that stupid water bottle idea.” Recognizing the confusion in Stan’s furrowed eyebrows, the words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them. “The supernatural properties in the water sorta…turned us into monsters…no! I mean…ugh! It…it did turn us into monsters and it’s all my fault, okay?! Grunkle Stan, you have to believe me! I didn’t know there was something wrong with that river! And now…! And now…everyone becomes rabid at some point at night and _things_ like me and Mabel have to hide because we‘re like this!”

The gleam of Stan’s fangs triggered Dipper’s fight-or-flight response as he huddled Waddles closer to his chest, his thundering heartbeat accelerating when Stan’s flickering tail displayed his aggressive, easily provoked nature. As the realization dawned over the elder Pines, he collected himself to exhale a heavy groan. “I didn’t mean that, kid. There’s just something about being in this body that gets me grouchier, but now I can’t blame it on old age.”

Dipper nodded his head, spluttering a wheezy, “It’s…it’s okay…”

“Now listen here, if there was a way to get into this mess, then there has to be a way out of it. If there’s anyone who can figure that out, it’s you. I don’t know how much help I can be, or even anyone else—let’s face it, we’ve got some folks in this town who aren’t exactly the sharpest tools in the shed—but as long as it’s not over ten bucks, I’m here to lend a hand-uh, claw.” Narrowing his eyelids, he shifted his focus from his wiggling digits to Dipper. “You get the point,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Stunned by his praise, Dipper perked his ears upward and offered an eager snicker.

“Well, now that all’s said and done, let’s get going while the sun’s still up!” Breezily striding past the fawn, he ignored Dipper’s mild shouts of fumbling protests. From the hallway, Stan’s voice traveled in a boisterous echo, “You’re taking me to see your sister, now move it!”

Knowing fully well he could not relay his sister’s overwhelming fear of her granduncle’s presence, Dipper set the pig on the hardwood so he could shuffle around his room. He grabbed his backpack, rifling through both Mabel’s and his possessions for lightweight objects to carry back to the lake. He triple checked the contents of his belongings, disregarding Stan’s persistent tapping against his bedroom window with his knuckles—for a brief second, Dipper allowed himself a moment of awe, marveling at the mineralized wings flapping effortlessly in midair—and he ensured the grappling hook was tucked safely between his clothes and the journal. Nodding to himself in confirmation, he changed his shirt then leisurely hopped over furniture, Waddles following briskly behind, but both animal and half-supernatural creature tumbled when Dipper caught sight of a particular item in his peripheral vision.

The minute Dipper reunited with his granduncle, who was impatiently stationed on the terrain outside the shop, he was regarded with narrowed, yellow eyes.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Dipper informed him.

Gompers bleated in the background before they departed, its elongated pupils expressing a blank look.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be back to feed you,” Stan chided, and with a grunt, he slipped his hands under Waddles’ stubby fetlocks. Grumbling testily, he muttered to no one in particular, “At this rate, I might as well just run a zoo…”

* * *

While they navigated the greenery in the thickening labyrinth of the forest, Dipper yielded to the instinctual leaps he made over mossy boulders, prompting a teasing remark from his granduncle, who struggled to match the fawn’s speedy pace. In their first moment of shared silence, Dipper’s heavily weighted guilt ignited the truth behind Mabel’s presence in the lake to surface. However, he purposefully excluded Bill’s role; he acknowledged that Stan, despite claiming supernatural occurrences are timely folklore in the town, would be absolutely _livid_ if he confessed to granting the wish of an unknown supernatural entity with equally unknown prowess to gain sentience in reality.

Stan remained both silent and disheartened for the remainder of the trip, his mind absent and unaware of his surroundings until Dipper jostled his focus by snatching his wrist and whispering that Mabel was beyond the trees.

Parting a branch with a talon, Stan stopped to ask dejectedly, “Do you really think this will work?”

“It will,” he confirmed, releasing his grip, “trust me.”

Stan expelled one last, tired exhale as his shoulders sagged, an affliction of emotions tightening his jaw, but he steeled his resolve by kneading his knuckles against Dipper’s hat then advanced forward in tentative steps. Dipper adjusted the blue visor of his cap and sighed in relief through his nose; he reasoned that the field Bill conjured would have ejected or prevented Stan from entering the area if he was anything but sane. _Or at least for now he is,_ Dipper considered fretfully.

Stan’s nose wrinkled in disgust as the mud sunk into the joints of his hocks. He spewed family friendly profanities under his breath as he lowered himself onto the bank to hug his knees and dipped the tip of his mud-slathered tail into the shallow depths of the water to make a few splashes, trying to encourage the mermaid to appear. The ensuing silence tightened his throat, and he fumbled to steady his mouth open to call for his niece instead, but he drew his lips firmly shut when Mabel curiously poked her head out of the water.

Elated, Stan greeted her, “Kid!” He cringed shortly afterward and amended his remark, “Mabel! How’s it, uh, how’s it hanging…?”

Mabel ducked her head underwater and vanished completely, only to reappear on the other bank of the lake. Biting the inside of her cheek, she seemed more interested in fiddling with several strands of her hair than confronting Stan, and the gargoyle’s slack jaw twitched in mingled surprise and misery every time his niece darted her eyes in his direction only to immediately avert her gaze to the hair in her hands.

Steadying his palms against one knee as he rose on both legs, Stan observed Mabel’s cautionary antics and resigned himself to raising his voice, his words woven with the concern, care, and compassion he rarely revealed to his family, against his better judgement and swollen pride. “Mabel, sweetie, you gotta understand that I don’t remember what I did or what goes on at night—heck, I don’t remember most things nowadays!—but you know I wouldn’t do this on purpose! Listen, I may be most things, a con, an occasional shoplifter, even a cheat, you heard them all, and I suppose a monster now…”

Mabel disappeared for the second time, but she resurfaced to the middle of the lake, hesitating to approach Stan any further.

Overwhelmed by a plethora of both negative and positive feelings, Stan offered a weary snicker. “But would an actual ruthless and dangerous bozo be carrying,” he turned on his pastern to partially display the animal fastened snugly between his stony wings, “this fella here?”

“Waddles!” she frantically swam to the edge of the lake, her nails sinking into mound of mud. “He’s…he’s okay.” Shaking her head to suppress the beady tears forming on the ridges of her eyes, she chirped, “You took care of him!”

Unhinging the buckle of the huggy wuvvy tummy bundle tied to his waist, Stan stammered in response as he propped up the snorting swine beside him. “I-I had to! That pig eats more than you and your brother combined!”

She apologetically softened her eyes. “Grunkle Stan, I'm sor-“

Stan plopped his tail atop Mabel’s head to force her underwater, her arms flailing wildly in confusion, as he grumbled, “We reached the apologizing quota for today.”

Withdrawing his tail from her head, Mabel parted the hair matted on her face, and the corners of her mouth rose in a bright grin.

Content to see her warm, beaming smile again, Stan laughed. “Attagirl.”

Unfastening the straps of his backpack from his shoulders, he rested his bag against the bark of a tree. Dipper shuffled on his hooves, and despite the affectionate bond being reshaped and restored, a creeping sensation of loneliness encouraged his slow retreat into the woods. Jokingly, he tried to uplift his mood by murmuring to himself that the gloomy temper was enticed by the hunger in his four stomachs. As he hopped over the trunks of fallen leaves and absently picked at the dirt beneath his fingernails, he knew the unpleasant sensation was anything but hunger. Crestfallen by the pessimistic thoughts burdening his mind, he trotted to a nearby tree to nestle inside its cavity.

The core of a consumed apple bounced off his hat.

Rubbing the spot of the impact, Dipper’s eyebrow hiked bemusedly, and he raised his chin to peer at the occupant resting on a tree branch.

“Was that enough to jog some kind of new knowledge of gravitational forces outta you?” Bill teasingly asked. When he tapped the branch with his cane, the bark expanded in length and width and made a sharp pivot downward as it formed the treads of a wooden staircase, and the modified bark rumbled slightly as a portion of the wood separated from the steps to mold into a handrail.

“Where have you been?!” Dipper spat heatedly, rising on his legs again.

Before reaching the forest ground, Bill dusted the faint shavings of wood chips from his tailcoat, but he did not immediately reply to the fawn and instead chose to examine the gleaming specks of celestial, gaseous clusters of colorful tendrils projected from the fabric of his tailcoat. Straightening himself, Bill allowed his wicked, fanged smile to startle Dipper as the child’s fluffed ears flattened against his temples, then the demon twirled his cane and honeyed his voice. “Wow, Pine Tree, I knew you’d miss me, but boy, who knew it’d be this much?” Whistling appreciatively, he added whimsically, “I’m touched!”

A red flush of indignation flared on Dipper’s cheeks. “I didn’t! I only wanted to see you because I need answers!”

The cane disappeared in a smog of black haze, and the triangular head quirked to the side, his eyelid falling half lidded in smug amusement. “Sure, kid, you want answers? I’ll give you answers.” Perching his hand on the fawn’s shoulders, Bill lifted his free hand, gesturing to a path in the forest. “Let’s take a stroll first, whaddya say?”

Dipper narrowed his eyes but resigned himself to a huffy, “Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cries into hands this whole chapter wouldve been a mess without dani th a nk you - but hEYO she made a reverse pines fic whispers [check it out ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3563942/chapters/7850828)
> 
>   
> and this triangle nerd got made for me by [the rADDEST person ever ((pssst go commission them!!!))](http://toothianafairy.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> and on a side note its bills turn to have the spotlight next chapter ahaha rip me but while youre still here do me a solid and go c o m m e n t i wanna see if everythings been gucci so far ✌✌


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper tags along with Bill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so its about time dipper got an emotional respite y/y

The afternoon came stitched in gold, splaying the setting colors of the horizon, brimming with streaks of cirri. The elongated shadows of the swaying treetops loomed over the pair while they silently traversed the labyrinth of the forest. The silence encouraged Dipper’s nervous, fidgeting habit of twiddling his thumbs as he leaped over the trunks of fallen evergreens. Bill abruptly made a sharp turn to inspect the plants surrounding him and blinked with a neutral countenance at a leafy shrub. Plucking off the stalk of a leaf, the demon brushed his thumb over its serrated margin, then he flicked the leaf to the side and buried his hand in the foliage. After a few rustles, the sharp snap of a broken twig from the thin, wiry branches echoed in their shared stillness. Withdrawing his arm, Bill closed both his hands over the stem and rubbed his palms together, producing a sharp, crackling sound that drew Dipper closer to curiously observe the antics of the demon as he slowly pried apart one hand.

A handful of plump, red grapes interlocked by a vine rested on the palm of the demon’s gloved hand. Without explaining the reasoning behind his whim to construct the sweetened fruit, Bill snatched the fawn’s wrist in a swift motion and wound the vine around Dipper’s fingers. After releasing his grip on the grape vine, Bill’s shoulders visibly juddered at the slow realization flickering on Dipper’s frown as the fawn fumbled to clutch the conjured grapes and nearly lost his hold on the vine when the unfamiliar chill of their crimson flesh brushed against his fingers.

“Grapes,” Dipper stated, owlishly blinking at the glistening fruit. “You made grapes.”

“Sure did!” Bill boasted, the lower ridge of his eye scrunched in delight.

In an exasperated fervor, Dipper flung the fruit on the ground and pointed a finger accusingly at the demon. “What are you playing at?!” He lowered his arm as a sinking revelation made him pause over the brazen pitch his voice had escalated to, but he clamored, “You exist here now, sure, I get that, but do you expect me to believe you’re not trying to get something out of this?!”

Bill failed to indicate the possibility of him responding with an obscure, dark remark and fixed his gaze on the discarded, conjured fruit staining the jagged pebbles in thin, red trickles.

“Why are you even helping me?! The-the warning, transporting my sister, that…force field you apparently put up, and…and the _food!_ Haven’t you realized that almost no supernatural creature just gives away free fruits to—to _people?”_ Combing his fingers through his hair beneath his hat, he shook his head in disbelief and frowned harder. “I mean, who even does that?”

Anticipating a response from Bill, Dipper readied himself in case he evoked a fit of rage from the demon: his nostrils flared in agitation, and his legs stood erect and strained at the hocks in preparation for flight.

Bill cast a glance between the amber glow of the midafternoon sky to the spiraling path behind them. A hazy coil materialized, snaking over his hand, and as he twirled his index finger in small circles, the spiraling black column solidified to form his cane. Turning on the soles of his shoes with his temperament intact, Bill casually strode deeper into the forest grounds without checking to see if he was followed by Dipper.

The boy shuffled on his hooves, and goosebumps formed over his arms as he frantically searched the landscape for the smallest inkling of familiarity in an attempt to go back and retrace his steps. He bent his legs to scoop the grapes from the ground and dusted off their marginally blemished flesh against his shirt. With a jaded exhale, he stored the fruits in the inner pocket of his vest. Keeping one in his hand, he hurriedly and unintentionally smacked his mouth—the instantaneous recoil prompted a twitch in his hooves that nearly tipped him to one side—and the round, dusty grape tumbled over his bottom teeth and plopped onto his tongue.

Dipper briefly succumbed to a lapse of uncertainty, waiting for a violent lurch to rise in his throat after consuming the grape. However, much to his dismay and relief, his body did not react negatively to the fruit. Conceding to his nagging conscience, he leaped over the undergrowth to search for the demon twirling his cane in the distance. After following the sudden turns and shortcuts Bill had drawn for him, Dipper caught up to the demon and kept his eyes trained on the ends of his tailcoat as they flapped under the soft currents of the breeze rustling through the trees. His ears shot upright as soon as they registered an abrupt, whirring sound, startling him enough to clutch his chest.

Bill quirked his head to inspect his tailcoat, his trademark snicker faltering in the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Huh, this outta raise some questions sooner or later.” His retort ebbed into a mumble as he shot a bemused look at the fawn tittering on his hooves. “C’mere, kid, it ain’t gonna be the best sight in the world, but it might,” he blinked, visibly recalling a word before continuing, “ _explain_ some things.”

Bill curved his foot to kick at the ground several times with the toe cap of his shoe to forcibly pry apart webbed fibers from the terrain, the growth of a tree stump emerging from the small, earthly tremor. Situating himself on the base of the trunk and crossing one leg over the other, Bill smoothed the fabric of his tailcoat over his thigh, his cane resting on the other thigh, and accommodated enough space for Dipper to hesitantly advance and station himself beside the stump.

“I have a couple of ‘errands,’” Bill raised his hands to air quote his explanation then withdrew them to his sides as his fingers traced the ambiguous, swirling vortex of the galaxy depicted on his tailcoat, “that’ll be taking up the mornings. For starters, how’s about I test that head of yours with a lil’ game? With all the trivial pieces of information you got up your sleeve, this’ll be a cinch!”

“Thanks, I think.” Shrugging his shoulders, Dipper nodded his head, and his eagerness enabled him to disregard the casual approval with which he regarded Bill.

“You got some spunk, Pine Tree.” The previous falter in Bill’s expression was replaced with a wild and toothy smirk. “So, lemme hear it: what are black holes and what causes them? Twenty seconds,” he announced, and with a blink, his eyelid reopened to reveal a ticking stopwatch.

“Tw-Twenty?” he spluttered. “Uh, uh—black holes are regions in space that-that…that have a really strong gr-gravitational pull that suck in everything and not even light can escape them, and, uhm…causes, causes…I know this, give me a minute-” Sucking in his breath at the few seconds remaining on the stopwatch, Dipper’s response rose to a mild outburst, “A dying star! Wait, no! When a large star collapses-”

Bill blinked, his normal eye reappearing. “Should’ve made it fifteen seconds! Humans sure are slow on the uptake!” Chuckling, the demon clarified to ease the confusion riddling the boy’s face. “Take it from someone who knows a thing or two about the secrets of the universe. Those black holes are just a bunch of unplanned spots a couple of robots visit when they’re fetching that high and mighty, drool dribbling toddler—he’s probably sucking his toe right ‘bout now too, that _monster_ —some dinner. This,” he indicated a void of desolate black consuming the whirlpool of stars on his tailcoat, “is the process of converting the fabric of space into a drink for that tyrant. Guess who picks up the slack on closing those gaps since those worthless hunks of software won’t?”

“…You?” Dipper responded, not understanding a single word the demon vehemently relayed to him.

“You got that right,” he sneered at the expanding black hole on his fabric.

Dipper hopped over the stump of earth and folded his legs under the barrel of his body. “So, what you’re saying is…robots are to blame for black holes?”

“Right again!”

Annoyed, Dipper flatly responded, “ _How.”_

Bill pinched at the fabric of his tailcoat then pried apart his digits as the cluster of swallowed stars zoomed in on two robots. One weaved an interstellar tendril and the other held a rubber nipple in its metallic, hooked claw, gripping the baby bottle as the first filled it to the brim. “Sight for sore eye, aren’t they?”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Wrinkling his nose, Dipper rested his hand against his head, his ears detracting against his hat. “Patching up holes? A drink? _What baby?_ How does a baby have _anything-_ ”

“Whoa, whoa! One at a time, Pines!” Amused by the fawn’s distress, Bill tugged down the visor of his cap. “When you’re as busy as I am, time goes by quick! And speaking of time, that _‘infant’_ is a teething goliath and much to my poor, _poor_ misfortune, the leader of our future. His royal highness only likes drinking the finest chunks of space in the cosmic sand; basically, it’s that bottle you see ‘em filling up.” He stopped to examine the robots sealing the baby bottle with the rubber nipple, and the sensor strips on their metallic heads flickered with light as they exchanged some sort of information. “Would’ja look at that, they’re leaving me a job already.” Sucking his teeth when the robots slipped through the eye of the vortex, Bill testily flicked his fingers against the projection on his tailcoat, as if scrolling through the far corners of space, before freezing the image on the celestial rings of Saturn.

Meanwhile, Dipper was showing the widest, childish smile Bill had ever seen from him. “This is insane! All this time I thought…wow… _wow_ …goodbye everything I know,” he laughed heartily. Clasping at the cuff of Bill’s wrist and shaking his arm, he eagerly asked the demon, “Is there more? There has to be more, right?!”

When Bill cocked his triangular head knowingly, Dipper withdrew. He folded his hands on his front legs, his ears twitched wildly in embarrassment, and he ducked his head, distractingly picking at his thumbnail.

Interjecting energetically, Bill proclaimed, “We’re burning daylight! Let’s hustle, kid.” Snatching his cane, he tipped his hat slightly with the hook. “The sooner we get this done, the quicker you can ask about whatever that pulsating organ lodged in your chest cavity desires!”

Covering his mouth to muffle his laugh, Dipper supplied, “It’s called a heart, Bill.” Collecting himself as he hoisted his body on all four legs, he wiggled his tail to clear off the wood shavings collected in the pearly white tufts of his fur.

Rather than trailing behind the demon as he hazardously swung his cane back and forth, Dipper maintained his pace beside Bill and inspected the demon’s corporeal form. His languid movements retained a bit of stiffness, but the physical form, Dipper considered, was fitting for the unconventional demon. His mouth was permanently fixated into a large grin as he navigated the remainder of their trek through the forest, and much to Dipper’s surprise and confusion, the unnatural, jagged teeth of his smile, which formerly induced a sinking feeling of dread, did not resurface. Bill burst into a lively cackle dripping with a cynical undertone as he recollected his taunts and remarks regarding the supernatural creatures originally born from the town.

And although the suspicion lingering in his gut had yet to subside, Dipper was radiating with enthusiasm.

* * *

“Oh, Gravity Falls, you haven’t changed a bit!”

Dipper processed the change of scenery around him. The drab, paved streets carried cracks and footprints from unfamiliar creatures he had never encountered, and the mundane atmosphere of the town operated as it normally would have in the dark-lit afternoon: the tantalizing smell of the diner had his mouth salivating, the lights in various shops were brightly illuminating the inside of each store and the surrounding street, and the town was bustling

_with monsters._

Shaken, Dipper’s breath hitched, “Bill…” Voice trembling, he retreated a few steps. “Bill, we have to get out of here.”

“Pine Tree, relax, will ya?” Recalling his cane, the demon pressed his palms against the fawn’s shoulder blades, pushing him forward. “I was doing a lot more than sprucing up after some robots. Entering the heads of all of these clueless saps was one wild ride, and boy, were some minds as empty as their futures!”

“What did you do?” Dipper demanded impatiently.

“Nothing much, just some minor modifications to prevent the folks in town from breaking out the pitchforks and wiping out the entire population of deer, and you and me both know that wouldn’t be too pretty. So, after tweaking a few things here and there, they can go on and live out the rest of their meaningless lives even as repulsive freaks!”

Dipper spotted a zombified Robbie, cackling as he spray painted a building with his signature explosions until the arm supporting the can of spray paint detached from its socket and fell limply on the ground. Berated by his flimsy appendage, he aggressively snatched his decaying arm and wandered further into the alley in exasperation. Humming peacefully on the sidewalk and sporting grocery bags on her wrists was Lazy Susan. Her mutation into a cyclops did not drastically alter her bodily composition, but Dipper’s attention gravitated to the large, singular eye centered on her facial features. A white bat fluttered with a distinguishable lack of grace as it anxiously searched the area, appearing startled by the monsters sweeping past its flying form. Redirecting its gaze across the street, the terrified expression transitioned into a grimace of hostility as it spotted the fawn, and the bat bared its fangs before flitting wildly in the opposite direction.

Monsters littered the area but shared welcoming gestures with the neighbors they encountered, and Dipper stared in astonishment at how well Bill had manipulated the memories of the citizens. The thought of the residents of Gravity Falls blaming their undesired physical alterations on his water bottles had weighed heavily on his mind, and the knowledge that they would not bother him about his involvement in their transformations alleviated the tension in his haunches.

As he tailed Bill into an antique store, Dipper meekly responded to the residents’ numerous and often warbled greetings. Too immersed in his own thoughts, he barely noticed Bill waging a one-sided war as he conversed with the old gremlin—

“Why is it priced so high?”

The gremlin furrowed her scaly eyebrows. “It’s business, sonny. I need money to keep this shop running.”

Leaning against the desk, Bill’s lower eyelid scrunched in malicious delight. “Why?”

“It’s…the only income I have,” she hissed through her cracked teeth.

“Why?”

“I don’t have support!”

“Why?”

The gremlin’s pale, grayish eyes looked glassy. “I haven’t been successful!”

Grin widening, Bill drummed his fingers on the countertop. _“Why?”_

—Guilt-ridden, Dipper shifted from hoof to hoof, his tail sinking between his hind legs. He regarded Bill with a fond countenance: the demon’s charity enabled him to return to the different parts of his ‘home’ beyond the Mystery Shack and forest. He was willing to apologize for his behavior from the early afternoon, but when he tried, the words lodged in his throat and turned into a raspy croak.

Bill grabbed the edge of his triangular head in one hand, his free hand forcibly removing a small block of gold from the lower angle of his face. Beads of blackened droplets formed in the vacant spot, seeping onto the ridges of adjacent golden blocks, but undeterred and composed, Bill flicked the golden, sharpened nugget on the shop owners’ desk. “That outta cover it. Keep the change, you’re gonna need it,” he snickered as he turned on his heels and made a beeline through the cluttered inventory, claiming the large hamster ball that collected dust in the corner of the room.

Gawking in confusion, Dipper watched Bill hug both sides of the oversized ball. The demon rested it against the frame of the door before blinking, and his reopened eyelid revealed a protruding metallic extension, which then expelled a laser that incinerated the linings of the store. With a graceless tumble, a portion of the store collapsed, and the gremlin’s and fawn's jaws gaped at the destruction.

Bill whistled a humorless tune as he rolled the ball over the fallen plaster, and Dipper looked between the reshaped entrance and the shop owner, who clutched at the golden ore in her calloused hands for dear life. Nodding his head toward her in an apologetic manner, he straightened his trembling legs and leaped over the rubble that used to be a door to catch up to the demon.

“First off, don’t do that! And second, you shouldn’t be here! What happens if one of the townspeople think there’s something a bit... _off_ about you?”

“There’s plenty of things off about me!” he proudly amended.

“You know what? Forget I mentioned that, yeah, bad question, really bad. Okay then, third! What do you need a hamster ball for? You don’t own a hamster, and even if you did, you shouldn’t because seriously, man? Why would you need one this huge?!”

Bill navigated the hamster ball to the edge of the forest before offering a response for the fuming fawn. “The only use I have for a death trap this big is to stuff someone in here and let ‘em tumble down the hill to see whether or not they survive,” he divulged, but he corrected himself after reaping the pleasure of watching the boy’s face drain of color. “It’s for Shooting Star, minus the whole ‘life-flashing-before-your-eyes’ gig.”

“…Shooting Star…? Who…Mabel?” When the demon gave him an affirmative nod, Dipper stole another glimpse at the hamster ball. “You got this for Mabel? Wait, hold that thought, how did you know she wanted a hamster ball?”

Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, Bill disclosed in an uninterested tone, “I’m aware of every event happening in the moment it occurs and not a second later. Right now, your sister’s chasing a school of guppies; Stanford is home, moaning and groaning about tearing holes into his clothes to fit his tail and wings; several gnomes are reaching for some pastry on a window sill; and someone just dropped an egg on their floor. Being trapped for so long created a gap, and it’s taking its sweet time for me to remember all the bits and pieces of the happenings in this town, so I’m still playin’ catch up.” Patting the hamster ball, Bill shook his wrists, and two bulky, writhing tentacles solidified in front of his hands. “Meddling inside the minds of others has its perks, like letting me see that day when everyone watched you fail the manliness tester in the diner. Congrats,” sniggering at the recollection he traced from the memories of the Gravity Fall’s civilians, Bill whispered mockingly, “ _cutie patootie._ ”

Someone somewhere made the scream Dipper’s face expressed. Mortified, the boy advanced into the forest without a concern as to whether or not Bill was following him. For a long while of trotting in grueling silence, the padded footsteps and crunched twigs he heard resounded in the hushed, nightly gloom of the forest, and his anger dwindled into a mesh of exhaustion and hunger. Behind him, the footsteps hastened, and Dipper grumbled, “Come on, do your worst. You might as well call me a wet blanket while you’re at it.”

The growling response had him come to an abrupt halt as his heart leaped in his throat, and he slowly craned his head to the side until his eyes locked with those from a pack of male, orange whelps, which advanced with bared teeth and drool dripping from their jaws. His mind scrambled for answers—how long had it been since he was alone in the forest? Did the intervals of the madness of crossed supernatural hybrids differ in the nightly hours? _Was he going to get eaten alive?_ —and with a squeak that escaped him, he attempted to retreat, but the young pups bridged the space Dipper was hoping to expand.

His tail brushed against the trunk of a tree, and before he could round the corner while trotting backward, the pack snarled as the largest of the pups leaped with a bloodcurdling roar. Shielding his torso with his arms, Dipper clenched his eyelids shut, waiting for their yellowed, jagged fangs to sink into the barrel of his body, but he lowered his guard when the pain had yet to surface, and a collective shriek from the hounds gave him the courage to reopen his eyes.

The whelps were entangled by a plethora of tentacles, which jolted red electricity into their fur. The smell of smoldering flesh and the animalistic chorus of collective agony induced bile to rise in Dipper’s throat.

The plastic hamster ball appeared first, clasped in Bill’s unmodified arm. His triangular head emanated a fiery, cardinal glow, and his wicked smile blackened his normally white sclera and teeth, while his pupil gleamed a malicious white and elongated ferally.

Bill carelessly flung the whelps to one side, then their bodies spasmed for a few seconds before a whine was shared amongst the pack. Rising to their haunches, the pups fled the scene, and as they disappeared into orange specks in the distance, Dipper approached Bill, who maintained an unwavering, sidelong glance at the pack until they became indistinguishable from the trees.

Dipper peered up at the demon, whose chest rose and fell unevenly. He noticed the red glow of his triangular head had not dissipated, and the spot where he tore off his face to pay for the hamster ball secreted a viscous, blackened ooze, which dripped onto his lapel.

Biting his lip, Dipper rifled through the pockets of his vest, fishing out a couple of warm and unappetizing grapes. “I saved them,” he confessed. “They’re still good, a little beaten up, so…thanks.” Bill’s gaze shifted from the trees to Dipper, who extended his hand, displaying the fruit to the demon. “I’m not really feeling all that hungry. And if Mabel was around, she’d like us, to, uhhh, to share…?” Growing nervous under the demon’s blank stare, he laughed to ease his nerves. “Y-You don’t have to, though. Just throwing out an idea here, yeah…”

As Bill observed the fidgeting fawn, listening to his voice trail into soft, jumbled murmurs, the flare of his former malevolent intentions faltered, and his head reverted to the vibrancy of its yellow hue. The discolored tones regressed to their original coat of white, and his pupil regained its black pigmentation. Switching his grip on the hamster ball, he circled his tentacles over its brim and accepted the offer of food with his free hand, plucking a few grapes from the child’s palm and tossing the fruits into his mouth.

The light emanating from Bill’s head illuminated the winding passage. The demon neither walked ahead of nor behind the fawn, staying by his side as he balanced the hamster ball and indicated the turns they had to take to return to the lake. Bill explained that he would station the hamster ball behind the Shack—Stan would be too delirious and forgetful to recall how he procured an oversized ball of plastic, but by morning he would accept the finding without question and offer it to Mabel so she could roll on land inside a circular tub of water—but for the sake of time and the monsters prowling the grounds, Dipper would remain with his sibling.

Collecting the backpack he left behind the tree, Dipper blurted out a question before he could stop himself. “Are you coming back?”

Bill blinked incredulously, unaccustomed to the underlying request of his presence, but his composure resurfaced almost instantaneously as his shoulders tittered in amusement. “By the time I’m done, it’ll be way past your bedtime, Pine Tree!” he responded teasingly before whisking the hamster ball along with him.

Having every intention of waiting, out of curiosity as well as a badgering worry about the demon being hunted by the beastly civilians, Dipper advanced to the lake and greeted Mabel resting on her mound.

“How did it go with Stan?” Dipper mused lightheartedly, tucking his legs under him as he situated himself by the lakebed.

“Super! I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about Grunkle Stan taking Waddles, but I think he needed him around more than me. I saw it in Waddles’ eyes, he knows where to hide! Grunkle Stan mentioned that he’s coming back in the morning to check up on us.” Giddily, she splashed her tail against the water. “He said he might find me a neat cooler or something to help me get to the Shack; I really miss it!”

“I think he’ll get lucky this time; you know how the old man always finds weird things.”

Giggling cheerfully, she whispered, “So. _Bill._ ”

Squawking, Dipper dunked her head underwater and jabbered, “Mabel, cut that out! It was fine, everything was fine, nothing strange happened, _everything was perfectly fine._ ” When Dipper retracted his hand, Mabel resurfaced with a sly grin, the glint in her eyes sheened by water and her natural, upbeat energy. Averting his eyes, a dull shade of pink bloomed on his cheeks, and in a nearly inaudible murmur, he admitted, “Bill…is okay.”

Mabel sighed adoringly. “Maybe one day I’ll have my dreamboat appear too.”

“What. Wait, Mabel, that’s not—he’s not-”

“Shhh, shhh, brother,” dramatically, she turned away, “there’s no need for words when it comes to-”

“Wow! This is definitely a conversation we're not going to have _ever_. Ha ha, how about some more raspberries,” he stated rather than asked. Scrambling to stand again, Dipper dragged his hooves on the grass, wiping off the dried dirt that caked the gap between his cloven hooves. As he looked ahead of him, he lolled his head, inspecting the side of a tree within their safe-guarded vicinity that housed a familiar white bat, which was perched upside-down on the branch.

Mabel followed his gaze and gasped. “Why, hello, friend!”

The fuzzed, white bat expanded its wings and swooped to tackle Dipper. Stepping aside, Dipper hiked an eyebrow at the creature’s hostility. “I don’t think it wants to be friends.”

The plump mammal flapped its wings with difficulty until it landed on Mabel’s head, enticing a whooping cheer from her.

“Saw that coming,” Dipper said, leering at the aggressive bat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bill is an ~~awful~~ ~~mediocre~~ decent "caretaker"
> 
> and speaking of bill the next chapter will switch to his pov for a bit!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after spending nearly three weeks straight reading jackrabbit fics ive gotten some of my self restraint back h e l l o  
> heres bill as promised and basically his [designated theme song for this fic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0qXmxVySMzw) go listen ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
>  **heed warnings** and i experimented with style a bit bc im psure bills mind is anything but linear and more on the erratic + unstable side

After weaving the hamster ball over the myriad of fallen tree trunks surrounding the path to the Mystery Shack, crushing the delicate petals of the wildflower glades in his venture, Bill stationed the translucent, hollow pink sphere atop the withering floorboards of the porch. As the demon descended the staircase, the steps creaked beneath him, and the opossums slumbering beneath the panes skittered through the gaps they chewed in the wood, dashing into the wilderness in a frenzy of panic and fear as the air permeated an aura of raw malignity radiating from the demon’s twitching grin. His measured, paced strides onto the terrain sent a rumble through the ground, and as he crinkled his twitching fingers, the tremor jolted the pebbles littered among the dirt and wilted the sprouting clovers peeking through the welt of his shoes.

Bill approached an evergreen with split, wooden fibers and traced his fingertips over the protruding conks of brightly colored fungi scattered across the bark, then he hooked his hands through the torn cavity in the greenery and locked his shoulders, forcibly creating an elongated canker that revealed a thin glimpse of the dreamscape. Fashioning an interdimensional passageway to his metaphysical domain, Bill retracted his arms and jumped into the widened expanse he created, dusting off his pants as the gray-painted landscape’s mirrored tree sealed the dimensional tear within the trunk. Surveying the area with a glance, he examined the graying spectrum of the mirrored Mystery Shack, the dull-tinted hamster ball plastered against the entrance of the gift shop’s front door, to the forest beyond him structured to the other reality’s fixtures.

As his shoulders tittered with baleful mirth, Bill abruptly clamped his triangular head. With his free hand, he burrowed the tips of his fingers into the blackened bile dribbling over his gloves, clamping onto a chunk of gold embedded in the vacant socket of flesh and forcing the brick-like nugget into place. He examined the lapels of his suit, stained with his demonic blood, and redirected his blank gaze to his fingers, where black globs of blood dripped from the tips.

Closing his eye, Bill recalled the ambience from the silent void of the galaxy, a peaceful place despite the constant presence of those time traveling robots, enveloped by a blanket of stars and gaseous, celestial bodies that immersed the interstellar void with their sublime colors and gleaming tendrils. Irritation rising to a feverish pitch, his corporeal form pulsated with a reddened anger flaring in his wrists as he envisioned and revisited the events of his failure: close, _soso **close**_ , until the panicked screech of the fawn transcended to the dreamscape and resounded through the cornerstones of his mind, and his rare, distracted lapse forced him to pause between intertwining a wisp of purple, stellar mist and escaping through the portal: he could return to the humanistic plane of reality or remain in the darkened void.

_**The largest whelp of the pack lowered itself to its haunches, bloodlust salivating its mouth, and its eyes honed onto the cowering, mutated deer.** _

Bill maintained his grip on a tendril, the one he used to repair the damage inflicted upon the nebula by the futuristic drone.

_**With a chilling snarl, its tongue lapped at its serrated fangs,** _

He bit the side of his forked tongue distractingly, his agenda undeterred.

_**its claws unsheathed through its paw pads and curled against the dirt. Hunching its spine and readying its hind legs, it poun-** _

He leapt through the cosmic portal to traverse the dreamscape to the final dimensional ripple into reality, using his tentacles to reclaim the hamster ball he had left in the tresses of the green fields - _noone **kills** his **prey**_ **.**

The nebula was consumed by a gaping, black hole, and Bill’s eyelid reopened, revealing a sclera that emanated a scarlet glow and a pupil that constricted into the size of a pinprick. A series of curved, irregular shapes he conjured through his indignation molded into the forms of the rabid pack before him, their stillness short-lived as their sentience surfaced to curiously examine the pasture around them, and their singed, gray fur retained the damage inflicted by the demon.

The cynical undertone of Bill’s grin delved into a tight scowl, and as he approached the pack with a hardened glance, he lowered himself to his knees and shot his hand forward to strangle the largest of the whimpering whelps. Bill’s other hand formed a singular tentacle that diverged into thinner appendages and coiled around the fragile windpipes of the smaller, mutated pups, and the sound of their breathless gasps intensified the strength in his grip on his unmodified hand until the pup’s gray skin transitioned into a darker, grayer tone. Bill pressed his thumb against the juncture of the whelp’s neck, his shoulders juddering when a pair of beady eyes revered the demon with a sobbing fright, and he curled his gloved fingers against the creature’s protruding spine. One little _push_ , he considered, was enough to crush the tendons aligning the vertebrae, just one

_little_

_**push-** _

An abrupt rustle drew his gaze forward: a deer rounded the corner to regard him with an enigmatic look, and the animal blinked once before lolling its head to the side.

The replicated whelps disintegrated into a pile of ashen powder that trickled between Bill’s fingers, and his bared scowl relented into the fine line of a neutral frown. After planting his palms against his knees and hoisting himself forward, he tapped his shoe twice to restore the spotless sheen of his formerly blackened gloves and suit, and his eyelid lowered moodily as he looked at the animal, which blinked again before leaping over the shrubs and disappearing into the labyrinth of the gray forest.

Bill sharply turned on the balls of his heels and surveyed the Shack’s proximity. He advanced to a large, clouded puddle, and deeming any reflective surface sufficient for his intended purpose, he raised his hands to project the images of the slumbering residents, then he weaved their dreams into the course of nerve-wracking, heart-tremoring nightmares to prolong their wake into their carnivorous hour. The following projection of the children’s granduncle made his eye narrow: his entrapment had taken its toll, yet there was something _important_ about Stan Pines—

Delving slowly into his mind to uncover the missing link, he grated his teeth together,

a lingering sensation of ambiguous resentment steeled his resolve.

There was something _strange_ about S̷̴̤͇̮̯̭̣̬̻̰t̵̵̻̦̊̃͐̈ͅa̲͇͖̖͝ņ̸̢̤͍͔̤̱▓͙ͨ͌͋̏ͥ̓͛▓̧̟̟͇̞ͭ͑

—he hissed, clutching at his wrist as if it was burned, and retreated as the water dispersed his projection and regained its ordinary gray saturation.

His frown upturned at the corners in a vindictive grin, and the tension in the air dissipated as he cackled aloud, musing over the folly of humanistic instincts: preventing demonic possession was one thing, but ensuring the exclusion of demonic admission confirmed the transparent secret carried by the eldest Pines member. As he folded his hands behind his back, Bill dismissed the idea of rifling through the gargoyle’s dreams for the truths locked within his mindscape.

Lightly kicking the tip of his shoe against a tree, he jumped through the gaping passageway that sealed the vestiges of the dimensional ingress when he planted his feet on the ground. A cloud of sulfurous black drenched his fingers during his leisure stroll, accompanying the demon while he searched for the cabin tucked in the woods that had been long abandoned by the pack of whelps. Trespassing onto the property showcased traces of family mementos in the crooked picture frames, nicked wooden beams with a series of names and corresponding height growth over time, and a collection of axes mounted on the walls.

After materializing a cane, Bill hooked its handle over the freezer to inspect their belongings, and for the sake of keeping the younger, aquatic Pines remotely sated, he snatched the opened box of frozen ice pops.

* * *

“Aww, I think it likes me!” Mabel cooed, her finger scratching the furred creature’s bulbous neck.

Dipper spared a glance over his novel at his sister and her fuzzy companion. “Mabel, you don’t if know that _thing’s_ carrying anything, stop petting it.”

The white bat craned its neck and directed a glower of offended hostility at Dipper, who casually returned his attention to the book in his hands. It nuzzled against the girl’s finger for a moment before taking flight and hovering over the fawn, where it emitted a tangent of squeaks and angered clicks.

Initially unfazed, Dipper regarded the animal with a pointed look and mumbled a few garbled words, and his focus had only fully transitioned to the bat when he felt a set of tiny teeth pierce the lobe of his ear.

The bat’s arrogant demeanor seized and it squeaked in panic, its beady eyes observing the fingers tightly gripping its plump body and forcing its wings to squeeze against its sides. Struggling to shift in its captor’s hold, its jaw slacked in horror as soon as its eyes came face to face with a set of jagged, demonic fangs.

The dream demon’s eye scrunched in mingled delight and amusement. “And who’s this flying lil’ bloodsucker?”

“Bill! You’re back!” Despite himself, Dipper grinned in relief and set his book aside, but his expression faltered when he spotted the bright green box tucked beneath his arm. “With…ice pops…?”

“Bill!” Mabel cried, “You’re hurting my new friend!”

For the most part, Bill released his grip, holding the flitting, panicked creature by the tip of its wing between his fingers. With a motion of haphazard indifference, Bill concentrated on rattling the squeaking bat, but he halted his actions when the bat’s ears detracted against its head, dizzy eyes unfocused on the menacing demon shaking him from side to side. Mabel splashed her tail against the water and threatened to pelt balls of clumped mud to free her “friend,” but Bill brushed aside her angry warning and flicked his forked tongue over his fangs, a glint of devious, ravenous hunger dilating his iris.

“‘M doing you a favor here, Shooting Star, ‘cause let me tell ya, this miniature beast of burden is more of an annoying pest around than anything out there lookin’ to have live mermaid for dinner.” Cackling under his breath, Bill leaned to the side and rested his arm in a lax manner atop Dipper’s head, which brought forth a small noise of protest from the fawn. Dangling the bat over his mouth, Bill grinned, “Bottoms up!” His voice delved into an otherworldly, infernal echo that ran shudders through the twin’s bodies, and their large, boggled eyes twitched in petrified horror when Bill added, “I heard vampires are a _real_ treat, pipsqueak.”

“How dare you!” the bat screeched. “Unhand me, you terror!”

Struck with a grimace of dread and disgust, Mabel groaned, “…Is that…?”

The addled fear in Dipper’s disposition delved into an exasperated glower. “ _Gideon_.”

“Just my luck,” she sighed disappointedly. “I finally get to meet a vampire, and he’s not even the hot kind.”

The bat’s eyes flickered in fear, and he regressed into his natural, humanistic form. A terrified shriek escaped him as he concealed his trembling body in his white cape, and his free hand meekly swatted the demon’s maw from his face, forcing a bridge of distance between them.

Dipper sighed and tugged on Bill’s sleeve. “Don’t eat him.”

Bill glanced at Mabel for her opinion, who mouthed her silent approval, and after snickering at her, Bill relented and released his grip on the collar of Gideon’s cape. The small vampire squawked when he hit the ground and looked torn between bursting into a gale of anger or cowering away. Leaning toward the former, he darted a heated glare at the fawn and hissed, “Reckon you can tell me why this here town’s full’a monsters, boy?”

Dipper’s fingers tightened against the fabric of Bill’s suit.

Bill blinked. “Must’ve missed one.”

Words lodged in his throat, Dipper croaked, “Does, uhm, the Mystery Shack’s water bottles ring, uh, any…any bells…?”

Baffled by the insinuation, Gideon growled, “Water…? You mean that swill your family was sellin’? M’ mother and father drank it, but I sure as heavens didn’t.” Narrowing his eyes into slits, he huffed, “’N why should that matter none?”

“Well, uh…!”

While the two boys engaged in a tense conversation, Bill conjured a clove of garlic and interjected with a casual remark, “What _should_ matter is making some better pact choices after you made off with a bunch’a vampires to become a useless, oversized leech, kid.” Flicking the clove between the furrowed lines of Gideon’s eyebrows, he cackled aloud as the vampire shrieked and fervently rubbed at his forehead with the sleeve of his blue cuff. Withdrawing from Dipper, Bill rifled through the box he tucked under his arm and pitched a foil covered popsicle in Mabel’s direction—she tore the wrapper off, her infectious smile perked at the ends in childish excitement, and she cheered, “Ooh! Grape!”—then fished out another pair of popsicles. “Wager just the right price, and we demons can get things done _right_.”

Gideon bared his teeth in a tight scowl, his fingernails curling against the bed of dirt beneath him. Bill tore the wrappers off the popsicles, tossed the box over his shoulder, and lowered himself a little, allowing Dipper some time to consider the gesture, his internal debate visible in his hiking eyebrows. Dipper’s brief deliberation ended when he chose his popsicle, plucking the honey-yellowed frozen treat with a small nod of appreciation. He unclenched his fist from Bill’s sleeve as the demon bit off a chunk of his cherry popsicle, which stained his teeth red.

Dipper cringed at the sound of ice crunching between teeth. “Bill, you’re supposed to lick it.”

Gideon’s alabaster skin paled a tone lighter, then the boy shook his head, his voice escalating into a higher octave out of indignation over Dipper’s unintentional mass mutation. “So this was yer doin’, was it?”

“It wasn’t…!” Dipper flinched. “I-”

“Good night, Short Stack,” Bill ordered hollowly, his gaze fixated on Gideon as the vampire deflated, succumbing to Bill’s magic-induced drowsiness. His eyelids fell and rose in slow flutters, and his retort to Dipper’s protest teetered into an inaudible murmur as he slumped onto the ground in a ball; the rumbling from his boisterous snores was evidence of his unconsciousness. Mabel raised a thumb in wholehearted approval, while Bill waited a moment to laugh cynically before elaborating, “This kid might open his yap to the people in town, so I’ll fiddle with his memories a bit and throw in a good ol’ nightmare for your sister.”

Mabel splashed her tail against the surface of the water in gratitude.

“No, no nightmares,“ Dipper reprimanded, and his shoulders sagged in mingled relief and jaded exhaustion, “But…I guess you’re right, about him talking to everyone else in Gravity Falls. I just-I wonder _why_   Gideon chose to become a vampire. It’s not like anyone really wanted to be a monster.”

Mabel lapped her tongue over her purple coated lips and waved her ice pop in thoughtful consideration. “Yeah, this is totally weird and creepy, even for Gideon.”

After biting off another, larger chunk of his ice pop, Bill chucked the uneaten portion of the cherry-flavored frozen treat onto a thicket. “He did it for a bit of protection but mostly to impress,” his eye averted to Mabel, and he mimicked Gideon’s accent, “ _his peach dumplin’_.”

The twins simultaneously groaned.

Bill snickered delightedly. “He’s out of the loop, though, that’s for sure.” Clapping his hands together, he suggested eagerly, “But hey, how’s about we have a majority rule and kick him back in the wild to become vampire chow?”

Dipper darted an accusatory look at Mabel before she could raise her hand to approve Bill’s suggestion.

Bill extended his hands in a defeated shrug and shook his head in playful resignation, yielding to Dipper’s resolute frown, then he skirted past the huffy fawn and sat on his knees to examine Gideon. He reared his hand over the unconscious vampire and locked his fingers above the bridge of Gideon’s nose as his fingertips materialized a plethora of slithering coils, and the gaseous, black mist seeped through the corners of the boy’s closed eyelids.

Dipper peered over his shoulder upon noticing that the white tuft of his tail had slowly untucked between his legs, presumably, he thought, during the sudden, snarling confrontation over the town’s transformation. He had barely maintained his ground against Gideon; he could not imagine keeping his composure if he had to speak to the entire populace over his error. The possibility burdened his shoulders and ran an apprehensive tremble through his legs, and his pointed ears lowered in resignation over the gloom clenching his throat, but when he surveyed the dream demon before him, he felt like he could breathe easier in spite of his distressing circumstances.

“Hey, Bill?”

The demon’s gaze remained fixed on the vampire, who was speaking in an insensible slur, but his sleep talking included giggling over Mabel’s antics in his dream, at which Mabel pointed a finger to her mouth and feigned an expression of nauseous gagging.

Overcome by a wave of nervousness and ripples of embarrassment, Dipper meekly said, “Thanks.”

Bill’s pupil flicked in the the boy's direction.

Clearing his throat, Dipper waved his ice pop and amended his comment, “For the popsicle, I mean!”

Mabel mirrored the hand motion and chirped, “It’s really good!”

Shoulders bobbing up and down, Bill returned his attention to Gideon.

* * *

Bill left shortly after sorting out Gideon’s dream—Dipper adamantly repelled the demon’s intention of disrupting Gideon’s loud snoring by casting malevolent hallucinations on his slumber, much to the combined booing of both Mabel and Bill. Eventually, Dipper nudged Gideon with his hooves and situated the unconscious vampire behind a tree—and Dipper entertained his sister as she brushed the fur on the barrel of his body with a hair comb he had tucked into the base of his backpack. The exchanges were drawled, accentuated with tired yawns, and spoke about the lingering vestige of comfort in their bedrooms or the bundled warmth beneath their frayed covers. The night sky would have had a dull glow of an overcast that would filter to their bedsides as the shapes of clouds shadowed their floor – he missed his home in the dusty, disorganized Shack, and although he almost cringed while admitting this, he even missed the cobwebs and rickety floorboards in the attic. While Mabel chattered amiably, his mind wandered; he wondered if there was a solution to the mutations, something that could revert his family, and the town, into humans again, but the pages in his journal provided only a brief description of the river.

Eventually, he bade his sister a fond goodnight so he could explore the area, sticking to a safe vicinity. To his surprise, the linings of Bill’s forcefield in the dirt did not expand as far as he thought, and when a monster advanced toward him, he was frozen in fear. His hocks seized up, his tail tucked between his legs, and as soon as the hope of being saved by Bill had resurfaced, the pouncing monster tumbled backward, shocked by a transparent jolt of sizzling electricity. It approached Dipper a second time, its snout bearing serrated teeth, but a second leap elicited an agonized cry: the transparent field had propelled it into a tree, and its body spasmed from the electrical discharge.

Dipper’s shoulders sagged in relief, and he extended a curious hand and wiggled his fingers, anticipating a reaction from the transparent field, but he withdrew his arm after a while when nothing happened. He circled the area twice and planned to return to the lake after finding no one in the forest, but his peripheral vision noticed a fluorescent, amber glow, and he turned his head as a cane parted the low branches that obstructed the edges of his triangular head. Astonished for a moment, Bill stepped inside the guarded proximity and regarded Dipper with his eye furrowed bemusedly. “Pine Tree?”

Dipper’s throat tightened, and rather than verbally responding, he waved lamely.

“Right,” he said. “What’cha out here for?”

“I,” Dipper briefly glanced elsewhere, “I couldn’t sleep,” he lied.

“Huh, that it?” Bill clamped his hands onto the bottom of his cane, and he waved it in small circles like a baseball bat. “I got ya covered! Don’t move, kiddo!”

Eyes widening as large as saucers, Dipper frantically waved his hands. “No, no, seriously, man! I’m fine!”

Bill clucked his tongue in disappointment, but his grin remained in place as he lowered his cane and tapped its hook against Dipper’s hat. “So, why are you around these parts?”

Taken aback, the fawn’s ears pinned against his head. “I-I guess I wanted to ask how Gideon was able to get inside? Since everything else can’t?”

“Curiosity kills the cat, y’know.” Bill dispelled his cane into a shroud of scattering, black mist. “But it's pretty much the same reason Stanford can: as long as nothing’s trying to _consciously_ eat you two raw, anyone can waltz right on in here. If Stanford was under his frenzy, then he’d be outta here, and anything else would too if they were.” He raised his hand and twirled his index finger at the side of his head, using the familiar hand gesture to indicate the crazed, rabid delirium the townspeople’s fleeting subconscious faced.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his vest, Dipper’s fists nervously clenched shut. “So anything, and that means _anything_ , that wants to harm me or Mabel can’t come in, right?”

“Tomato, ta-mah-to,” the demon shrugged, “you get the gist here, kid.”

Dipper fell into silence for a moment, directing his vision toward the shared sky above them that splayed the bright, warming glow of stars, brimming with light. He lowered his head as the pregnant pause seeped into stillness, and the atmosphere retaining a façade of calmness had severed the demon’s composure. Words spilled from the boy’s mouth before he realized the weight of his offhanded observation: “You’re not trying to hurt us.”

Bill’s broad, customary grin twitched at the corner in a marginal, downward curl.

“I’m not—maybe this will sound a bit…” Dipper’s voice ebbed into a babbled murmur, and as he dug his hooves into the ground and tucked his tail between his legs, he cleared his throat to level his cracking voice, “I, um, I think I made up my mind…? Over that question I asked before? You’re not—I don’t think…” Fiddling with his fingers, he shifted his weight from hoof to hoof. “What I’m trying to say is that this is a lot of work for someone who’s hypothetically up to no good.”

Dipper curled his fingernails against the fabric of his vest pockets. “Maybe this is all some part of an elaborate, master plan.” Exhaling through his nose, Dipper’s stiffness softened as he smiled in exhausted gratitude, and the bags under his eyes looked greatly pronounced but reflected the sincerity in his voice. “Or maybe it’s not? I…just don’t think you’re ev-”

**“Sleep, Pines.”**

Dipper suddenly slumped to the ground in a deep slumber, but he was caught by the collar of his vest before his face could brush against the dusty terrain. His arms hung limply as he was tugged into the air and observed with harsh scrutiny under Bill’s elongated pupil, which was hooded by a moodily lowered eyelid, and the bright sheen of his blue sclera slowly regressed to its white pigmentation. Bill lowered Dipper to a standard elevation and strode to the lake in a series of incensed stomps, and while he was driven by the impulse to chuck the mutated child against the depression of the tree, he lowered himself onto one knee and set Dipper inside the crevice of the uprooted base.

Bill had the intention of plaguing the innocence of Dipper’s dreams with nightmares so foul and wicked that they would consume the faintest beacon of hope, to the point where differentiating his fears from the concept of dreaming would be lost. All he needed to do, Bill knew, was raise his hand and seep his powers through the frail barriers protecting the fragility of the boy’s mindscape-

As he rose back onto his feet, he pressed the toe cap of his shoe against the boy’s animalistic side to nudge him further into the darkened, grassy recess. Dusting off his hands and turning on the balls of his heels, Bill intentionally stepped on Gideon’s cape, then he sauntered through the woods, but he came to an abrupt stop when he confronted his forcefield. Outside its range, a young deer cast its large, black eyes over him.

Folding his hands behind his back, Bill sucked on his teeth. “What are you looking at? _Beat it_.”

Nonplussed by its resistance and unwavering gaze, Bill jumped onto a boulder and folded his legs as he situated himself into a seating position, grinding his teeth together as he formed a dimensional projection to regulate the dreams of the residents of Gravity Falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if it hasnt been clear yet stans name is completely intentional this whole time


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper's insecurities surface in his dream sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s/o to my friendo for checking this!!!! ◦°˚\\(*❛‿❛)/˚°◦
> 
> gonna try to get back to the mojo and get my ideas back in order  
> ***the following content includes aspects from dippers and mabels guide to mystery and nonstop fun***

  _In that same dream, he could be human again._

The hideout, _the ultimate hideout_ , rested in the crook of a tree. The oak planks on the hideout’s exterior were coated with a mixture of paint and invisibility powder to conceal the secret place from roaming tourists. A single window was situated at a precise and meticulously calculated margin, preventing the harshest of the summer sun’s rays from seeping through the split in the curtains, and the window provided the ideal angle to idly gaze at the Mystery Shack from high above its perimeter. Leaning an arm against the window sill, Dipper drummed his fingers against his cheek as he perked the smallest grin. He was watching his sister as she extracted and unfolded a poster from her VHS and proudly presented the brightly colorized print to her friends, who screeched in awe and lovingly nudged the overly-dazzling smiles of Xyler and Craz. In their proximity was Stan, his customary eyepatch dressed over his left eye, and his smooth gesticulations guided a bunch of curious and starstruck newcomers to the front steps of the gift shop.

Dipper’s hideout was a secret to everyone outside his family, Soos, and Wendy, and yet, as he turned on the balls of his heels, he was engulfed by the perpetual silence inside his base. The faint lull of the ‘Game Over’ screen from his arcade game resounded hollowly and was followed by an enthusiastic tiger’s roar and the sound effects of punching to encourage the player’s continuation. Tiger Fist can only retain its entertaining quality for so long before the CPU loses its charm and the bright, flashing text blaring from the opposite side of the screen, ‘Waiting for Player Two to Join,’ would eventually dishearten him.

Visits were seldom, as Soos’ and Wendy’s expressions visibly waned when Dipper excitedly pinpointed the epicenters of earthquake hotspots he had circled on his world maps. He would become flustered by his excessive eagerness and would try to recover by demonstrating the relevancy of the earthquakes on his seismograph in hopes of rekindling their lost interest. Eventually, Tiger Fist was not enough to draw his family and friends to visit his hideout as often as he hoped, thus leaving him to read in the company of a strained solitude.

Exhaling a wistful puff, Dipper slumped against the wooden wall and directed his gaze to the lid of a dusty box that was poking at his wrist. Gingerly sweeping the coat of grainy grime from the lid, Dipper sighed and halfheartedly kicked his favorite board game under his clutter of loose notes.

_In that same dream, he could recall the mundanity of summer._

_In that same dream, he could reimagine his family’s life regressing to its ordinary state._

_And in that same dream, he could never brush aside the lingering traces of loneliness constricting his chest that would follow him in his wake._

* * *

Mabel detected something unusual in the soft, rolling tides of the lake.

A bright glow illuminated the surface of the water, the light seeping through her closed eyelids. After shuffling in place underwater to dispel her fleeting drowsiness, Mabel rubbed her bleary eyes with the back of her wrist. She remained disoriented for a brief moment, her vision hazy and spliced, before fully registering the sight of a submerged, triangular form a mere few inches apart from her face. The triangle regarded her with a predatory, broad smile, and the singular eye scrunched in cynical delight.

“Up and at’em, Shooting Star!” he screamed, a stream of bubbles trailing from his mouth as his voice blared distortedly under the lake.

A surprised yelp rippled beneath the water. It took a while for her to recover from the sudden outburst, but when she regained her composure, she popped her head above the surface and her eyebrows furrowed in exasperation at the demon.

Bill had withdrawn from the water to stand erect, his feet hovering an inch above the surface of the lake. One of his hands clutched a book against his waist, and the other clutched at a thick branch he rested over his shoulder. Peering at the mermaid, who was glaring daggers at him for disturbing her sleep, he silently permitted her to disregard his presence to survey the area with a quick, visual sweep.

Mabel flailed her arms in a series of loud splashes to emphasize her grumpiness. “What the hey-hey, Bill?! It’s still nighttime!”

“Dusk,” Bill corrected her.

Succumbing to defeat, Mabel scrubbed her face and groaned. “Fine, _dusk!_ It’s still _too_ early!”

Shoulders tittering in amusement, Bill coaxed, “Turn that sour frown upside down! I have an important job for you!” Mabel’s frown softened into a surprised and interested ‘o’ forming on her mouth, and an excited sheen radiated from her irises. Bill lowered his arm and jiggled the branch that hoisted Dipper’s backpack by its haul strap. When Mabel’s expression deflated in mingled disappointment and confusion, he cheerfully elaborated, “Your brother’s got the residue of some low-grade ward on this bag of his that gets a _b-i-t_ annoying after the eighth sting.”

Crossing her arms, she regarded him with a suspicious stare. “And?”

“ _And_ all I need is some paper and a pen from this bag,” he cackled, “or else I’ll incinerate it this ash and dust!”

Panicked and aware of his destructive intentions, she waved her hands and shook her head. “Don’t! I’ll do it, I’ll do it!” She tugged at the zipper frantically, then shoved her hand through the contents of her brother’s belongings before fishing out a blank binder and tearing the perforated pages from its rings. She returned the binder, ensuring the Journal was obscured from Bill’s sight, and plucked a pen from the side pocket of the bag. Mabel extended her hands, offering the requested items, but despite herself she asked, “What do you need this stuff for anyways?” She shot out her pinkie finger, wiggling the digit to indicate the focus of her gaze. “And what’s that book you got there? Is it some dorky thing?”

Clipping the pen onto his breast pocket, Bill folded the pages and tucked them into the gutters of his book, then he drew his arm behind his back to conceal the tome from Mabel’s curious eyes. Through grounded teeth, he replied tersely, a hint of impatience lacing his tone, “I need a couple of sheets for my manual,” then he allowed a pregnant pause to expand between them before adding, “to calculate the dimensions of my future fortress: gotta have an impressive dig, y’know.”

Unaware of the abrupt change in Bill’s disposition, Mabel merely grimaced. “You’re going to do some math? In the middle of _summer?_ ” She flopped on her back, her tail keeping her body afloat, then planted the bookbag on her belly before spreading out her arms. She heaved a resigned sigh. “Nerds of a feather flock together, after all.”

Her chestnut-brown eyes focused on the panorama of wispy clouds sweeping above the blue twilight of the horizon. She anticipated a biting or witty remark from the demon, but he responded with silence. After he hefted Dipper’s bookbag by its strap with the branch, he retreated from his spot above the lake, and she released the breath she held. Tipping her head forward, she discreetly watched as he sauntered onto the terrain—Leave it to Bill, she mused, to spitefully hop on Gideon’s cape and grind the soles of his shoes into the browning cape—and haphazardly fling her sibling’s backpack against the base of the tree. A pensive expression furrowed Bill’s eye as his triangular head swiveled to shift his singular gaze from the tree’s cavity, to the sky, then the maze of the forest beyond him.

Mabel blinked but continued to quietly observe the demon as he plopped himself beside the recess of Dipper’s tree. Bill peered inside the crevice, which was still occupied by the slumbering fawn, but did not immediately withdraw; he set some growths aflame in a small, blue blaze. Mabel’s heart tightened for her twin’s safety, but her concerned words remained lodged in her throat when she realized the flurry of flames merely burned away the overgrown weeds that had sprouted in the foliage of her brother’s bedding. As Bill’s invested effort gradually drove her to weary boredom, Mabel nearly submerged herself in the lake to partake in an underwater excursion with the stray guppies from the previous day. However, she halted mid-dive when she noticed the demon languidly resting his back against the trunk of the tree, his eyelid hooded in unwavering concentration as he flipped through the pages of his book and occasionally graphed lines on the sheets of paper.

Mabel studied him, her frown deep and pensive. When he stayed in the same spot and visibly possessed no ulterior motive other than leafing through the tome and sparing a glance or two at the interstellar plumes swirling on his tailcoat, she fortified her resolve to have fun with her aquatic friends and dove to the depths of the water.

When she resurfaced a few hours later to request Bill’s assistance to the fetch apples from the trees, he had disappeared. Her disappointment dispersed in an instant as a chorus of familiar, boisterous voices filtered over the echoes of nature.

* * *

A shriek. “Unhand me!”

A snarl. “Not a chance, bucko!”

Roused awake by the bustle of chatter outside the recess of his tree, Dipper rose to his haunches and emitted a yawn. He scrubbed off the gritty gound that had formed in the corners of his eyes and spread his arms to stretch his numb muscles. He blinked a few times and rubbed at the bridge of his nose as he tried to recall the memory involving his return to the tree’s hollow, but he soon brushed aside the idea in favor of investigating the morning clamor.

As he wriggled through the hole, his eyebrows hiked in mingled surprise and excitement. Mabel was eagerly testing her water-filled hamster ball, which was now adorned with a collection of lake-water gravel and sea kelp littering the base, and the awe-induced gleam in her eyes had Dipper break out a modest grin. As quickly as it formed, however, it shifted into a horrified grimace when he spotted Gideon, who was encased in a cracked, rusty tinged sediment binding his limbs and was grumbling in the shade.

After a vain attempt to wriggle free from the earthy entrapment and pausing to grunt and catch his breath—his attempt to revert into a bat was immediately thwarted as the crusted material reshaped to trap his small form—Gideon barked cold but empty threats at the snarling gargoyle. Stan impatiently and angrily replied with a harsh, animalistic roar directly at the boy’s face that ebbed into a low growl when he successfully garnered a terrified whimper from Gideon. Dipper traced the free-formed case to its owner, then he weaved through the large stones and offered a morning greeting as all heads turned to acknowledge the speaker.

Mabel splashed her tail, her voice echoing inside the plastic ball. “Hey, Dip!”

Stan grunted in acknowledgement of Dipper’s presence before returning to the vampire with an irritated grimace.

Dipper returned their gesture with a grin and greeted the third person. “Soos! You’re okay!”

“Am I ever!” he assured. “It’s great to see you’re okay too, dude!”

Dipper nodded, realization dawning over him as he quirked his head to the side to ascertain the transformation. “You’re a…?”

Soos wiggled his fingers, displaying the earthy exterior layering his hands. “A clay-” he paused, his mouth pursed while he searched for the word in his head. “Mr. Pines, what was that thing you said I was? A Goylem?”

“If we were speaking Yiddish, then you’re not far off,” Stan said pointedly. “Soos is a golem. At least he still comes in handy.”

Soos puffed out his chest and saluted proudly. “My duties as a handyman continue.”

Mabel rolled her plastic ball toward Soos and giggled behind her hands. “You said _doodie_.”

After Gideon raucously intervened with a dismissive threat, which transitioned into a desperate plea for his release, the group settled atop the field to discuss the booming business at the Mystery Shack—

Stan scratched the back of his neck. “Not that I’m complaining about a bunch of ugly monsters buying my merchandise, but everyone’s acting like they’ve been freak shows their whole lives!” Lowering his hand, he exchanged glances with his family. “Minus the little troll yammering to himself back there, it looks like we’re the only ones who realize that _this_ ,” he draped his stony tail over his lap, “isn’t exactly what you call ‘normal.’”

Soos nodded in agreement, and Gideon raised his voice in a heated outburst in response to the insult, which earned him another snarl from Stan. Mabel stole a glimpse of her sibling, directing a worried frown at him, and mouthed Bill’s name, which caused Dipper to instinctively clutch his arm and avert his eyes.

—as well as the large supply of raw, discounted supermarket meat oversupplied in the freezer, which should not be opened or else an avalanche of frozen, and questionably close to their expiration date, packets of chicken thighs and flank steaks would bury them alive.

While Mabel and Soos discussed their mutated forms, Stan picked at his talons and shifted restlessly where he sat. He clenched his fingers, his voice rumbling low in his throat as he fortified his resolve and asked Dipper whether he had approached them during his ravenous delirium. Dipper worked up an understanding smile, much to the gargoyle’s visible relief: his rigid, stone shoulders relaxed into a comfortable slouch. Dipper pretended not to notice Stan discreetly inspecting the twins’ bodies for any visible injuries throughout their time alone in the wilderness, so to change the atmosphere, in the spirit of a residual jest, Dipper asked Stan about his new diet.

“Everything tastes like copper,” Stan groaned, his wings pinned against his back. He fidgeted, seemingly debating with himself as his pensive expression hardened, but eventually he yielded in spite of himself and admitted in a paternal manner, “You won’t be seeing me eat _those_ kinds of things in front of you kids.” Kneading his knuckles reassuringly on top of the fawn’s hat, he rejoined Mabel at her insistence to be spun around in her ball to the point of dizziness.

After some time, Stan discovered a clove of garlic lying on the grass, and he was laughing cynically while threateningly waving it over Gideon’s nose. In the meantime, Soos plucked off the plastic bag he left hanging on a branch, rummaged through its contents, then extended the tupperware of food to Dipper and unhinged the hamster ball’s latch to pass on Mabel’s share.

“We stopped by Greasy’s to get you kids some grub,” Stan informed. “Eat up, you two.”

“Wow! It’s not just salad dressing this time!” Mabel tore off a chunk of her breakfast and folded the syrup-doused pancake between her fingers. The powdered sugar added a white smear to her mouth and polka-dotted her bandeau. “Thanks, Grunkle Stan!”

Dipper inspected the tupperware. “I’m surprised they’re still serving regular food.”

“We still eat the same when we’re not drooling all over ourselves and waking up in the middle of the forest with fur in our mouths,” Stan dryly clarified. He then turned to his niece and told her she had an excess of sugar slathered on her chin.

Dipper’s ears perked at Stan’s comment, and as his friends and family grew immersed in conversation—Gideon moodily and silently glowered at the sky, batting his nocturnal drowsiness aside in favor of sulking—Dipper retreated beside the cavity of the tree and slowly munched on his breakfast, trying to repress the rushing wave of somber guilt from clenching his throat. A sensuous waft of honey and garnished blueberries dripping over a stack of thin, buttermilk pancakes filled his nostrils. This was his first civilized meal in the past few days, but he could only stomach a quarter of his breakfast.

He glumly sealed the container shut and tucked the tupperware inside the tree's crevice, resolving to finish the meal later, then he let out a tired exhale. For the next two hours, he watched and listened to his family, the time passing like an eternity, until Stan rose from his spot on the grass with a groan. He wobbled to the side, unaccustomed to the added weight of his wings, then he swiped his tail to shatter the base of Gideon’s clay enclosure so he could tuck the jostled vampire child under his arm.

“Alright, let’s get a move on,” Stan declared, and with his free hand, he pressed his talons on Mabel’s plastic ball to guard her from tumbling wayward.

“Wait!” Dipper bellowed. “Grunkle Stan, just give me one second!”

Dipper trotted beside Gideon, who readily darted an impatient and hostile glower. Dipper leaned forward to whisper, “Listen, yesterday wasn’t our best run, I get that. I know you don’t want to hear this from me, but you can’t tell anyone what happened yesterday. I- _W_ _e_ don’t know much about Bill, or what he’s capable of, and—"

“What are ya goin’ on ‘bout, boy?!” Vehemently, Gideon raised his voice. “Bill? _Who the devil is Bill-"_ his outburst diminished into a muffled cry as Dipper pressed his palms against Gideon’s mouth to silence him. Bullets of cold sweat trickled under his fringes as he frantically looked between Mabel and his granduncle.

Bristling, Stan hissed through his grounded teeth. “What’d he say?”

Words lodged in his throat and body turning stiff in anxious fear, Mabel interjected fervently in his place, “Probably nothing important! You know how Gideon is, he’s always saying something cray-cray!”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose in agitation, but yielded to her lackluster response in dismissive exasperation. He pressed Gideon’s clay enveloped body to Soos, then muttered a few words under his breath and turned on his talons to maneuver his niece through the forest. Soos’ shoulders sagged at the sight, and as he turned his head to regard Dipper with a worried frown, Dipper waved his hand to reassure him. He halfheartedly promised Soos he’d reunite with the rest of them at the Mystery Shack later in the day.

When his family became colorful dots in the backdrop of the forest, Dipper inspected his mutated front legs, which was matted by sweat and mud caking the white spots of his fur peppered along his fetlocks. He turned his hand slightly, examining the puncture wounds trickling specks of blood and patterning the faint webs of his palms’ dermal ridges, then flinched when he tried to clench his fingers into a fist.

Voice small, he called out to the forest, “Bill?”

The trace of hope lingering in his chest diminished. “Are you there?” he tried, only to be answered by the calls of the cicadas.

Dejectedly, Dipper ventured into the wilderness. Pursing his lips in concentration, he leaped over boulders and roaring streams; his mind distracted as he countered the gnomes, the fairies, and to his surprise, the Multi-Bear, who was out of his den. It was a hopeless attempt, but Dipper asked the magical creatures about the river, to which they all informed him it was a generic water supply should they drink it and was infrequently sighted.

He was trying, and he wanted to demonstrate to his granduncle it was a progress that had not reached fruition, though he was still recovering from his earlier distress over Gideon’s outburst.

Reeling in his misery, he flicked his gaze to the several tree tops in hollow expectation to see the demon perched on a tree, and yet, he acknowledged, he had reduced himself to the companionship of an absent demonic, interdimensional creature who seldom over extended his stay. He was a strange ally, not a _friend_ , and as Dipper lowered the visor of his cap, he tried to cast aside the heavy blanket of disappointment smothering his mood-

A cow mooed.

Dipper blinked. He raised his head, his focus shifting from the grass to the animal in his vantage.

Dipper scratched his head, wondering how he chanced an encounter with a cow wandering aimlessly in the forest – no, he corrected himself, he considered how in the _world_ did he find a cow with limbs protruding from the barrel of its body in the middle of scenic nowhere.

“I know there’s weird things in Gravity Falls, but this really takes the cake,” Dipper mumbled to himself. “Where have I seen you before…?”

The cow’s eyes gained a scarlet glow.

“The petting zoo!” Recalling the memory, Dipper snapped his fingers. “Octavia!” His smile then deflated. “Oh. Octavia.”

Dipper squeaked as he narrowly dodged the animal’s laser beams. “Bad cow!” Watching her ready her eyes to blast him with another beam, he yelled in exasperation, “Oh, come on! How is that you’re mutated _and_ get some useful power!” Yelping at the abrupt barrage of red beams, his hoof caught itself under the snag of tree root.

Shielding his face, he cowered under Octavia’s approach.

The abrupt fall of a heavy weight jostled the pebbles beneath him and reverberated the echos of snapping branches. Confused over his unscathed state, he peeked over his elbows, and his eyebrows knit together. Bill materialized beside Octavia, and had tipped the mutated animal on her side, the frequency of his chuckles escalated as the cow tried to curl its protruding legs to lift herself. Octavia’s endeavor gained a marginal success when a supplementary appendage protruding beside her udder curled beneath her, heaving her body two inches off the dirt, but her determination was thwarted when the curved hook of Bill’s cane nudged her hind to the ground.

Bill reveled in his one-sided, sardonic charade until Octavia yielded and resignedly munched on the blades of grass tucked beneath her snout, while Dipper had long free his trapped hoof from the root. His frown set into a neutral, fine line. “Had fun there?” Dipper quipped.

“You bet’cha.”

Rolling his eyes, Dipper dusted the grime and tiny twigs caught on the folds of his shirt, and on the matted coils of his fur on the lower abdomen of his mutated body. Running his blunt fingernails through his pelt to alleviate a mild itch, Dipper slowly registered a thin film of magical energy enveloping his body and levitating him off the ground. As his eyes widened in a sudden panic, he looked to the culprit and shrieked, “What are you doing?!”

Bill had raised his hand, his pointer finger swaying playfully from side to side, the movements mirrored the fawn’s body rocking left and right. Sickened, frustrated, and on the verge of throwing up, Dipper swallowed the acidic bile rising in his throat before shouting, “Cut that out, man!”

“ _Hmm_ , I don’t think so. You still haven’t learned _a thing_ about appreciation!” He twirled his finger in small circles. “But don’t you worry, one day we’ll get you there, Pines.”

“Bill, this isn’t funny—whoa, _whoa_ ! What are you doing _now?!_ Put me down!” he protested, even if Bill disregarded his complaints and trekked through the greenlands of the forest grounds. Dipper’s retorts and angry tangents ebbed into bitter mumbles the further he was swung beneath the branches and sharply weaved through the tighter corners of the trees. He did, however, notice Bill had directed him with one hand, while the other nursed a book, its cramped, tiny text undecipherable from his altitude.

The notion of a novel, a piece of literature, being intently studied by the demon, who was uncommonly keeping his peace rather than tattling on boisterously about one topic or the other, had piqued excitement in Dipper’s smile over the unlimited possibilities. Bill halted abruptly to modify his hand into two tentacles: one cradled the spine, the blackened tip overlapped the gutter, while the divergent appendage rummaged through the inner pockets of his suit to fish out a pen.

As he wrote in the margins of the pages, Dipper asked, “Since you won’t tell me where we’re going, can you tell me what you’re reading at least?”

Dipper noticed Bill’s tentacle coiling tightly on the pen, as if he had the intention to snap it in half, however, the strain disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced, and he made no comment over the action. Bill’s pupil observed the landscape delving into teal and speckled with the gleam of dew on the tresses of the shrubs. “Oh, you know, just a collection of overly sensationalized, backwatered theories compiled by a bunch’a dead social shut-ins,” he said, then scribbled a series of numbers in rows.

Dipper’s was grinning ear to ear. “Really? Like what? I might’ve heard of them!”

Bill went quiet. Closing the book, he summoned the extra appendages into his wrist, pausing pensively to expand his fabricated lie to appease Dipper’s eager curiosity in order to withhold the truth of the text’s contents. As long as the boy was enthralled by his lies, Bill was able to maneuver through the outskirts of the forest without anymore of his protests. Dipper remained unaware of the rustling bushes, the gnomes fleeing in terror, and the toothy, malicious smile Bill had regarded a gnome who had lingered to fetch their belongings.

“So the Roswell Incident was actually-“ Dipper stopped short, looking around the vicinity. “The Gnome Forest? Why-Where’s the gnomes though?”

Shrugging, Bill tugged on the hem of his gloves, and wiggled his fingers to ensure they were properly fastened. “You know how those lil’ twerps are, they’re probably scouting the town for a new queen. Now that entire population of this town are some real freakshows; they might get stepped on!” Lowering Dipper beside the gnome’s lake, he approached the fawn. “Cross your fingers, Pine Tree, we could probably get some front-seat action on those pipsqueaks getting pulverized!”

“Bill, that’s really messed—hey, hey, _hey!_ _Whaf d’yew ‘ink yer ofvi'g?!_ ” Grip tightened around Bill’s arm like a vice, he hissed throughout the haphazard struggle to maintain the faintest trace of leverage in his four legs from slipping off the mound and tumbling backwards into the translucent pond behind him while fending off Bill’s hand with his elbow, which was pressing against his cheek.

“You’re an infestation waiting to happen!” Retaining his forced grin, Bill applied a gentle force on his palm to nudge the teetering boy over the grassy ledge. “When’s the last time you bathed?!”

Dipper protested an incoherent grumble, his fur bristling indignantly as he chomped down on Bill’s fingers, which were tugging against the groves of his lips. Dipper gained some footing as the demon relented, much to his relief, but his limbs had stiffened as his hind hooves skid against the wet mud. He sunk his nails into the fabric of the demon’s suit and unintentionally dragged Bill down with him.

Dipper floundered in the reeling shock of his actions, and as he surfaced, he beat his hands against his chest to hack the crystalline water filling his chest.

With his arms spread and his back against the bed of gravel, Bill floated on the surface, his smile twitching as he spewed the water from his mouth, his fingers crinkling. His harbored agitation threatened to unveil past his trained composure; he could feel his anger steadily coloring his face – he was going to _burn_ _that manual to shreds-_

Bursting into a small fit of snorts, Dipper clenched his eyes shut and held his chest as he broke out in a wholehearted, warming laugh that held a ring of bright and liberating happiness. Bill propped himself forward and blinked observantly, the rage that had seeped through had dissipated, and he watched Dipper swipe his palms against the watery beads trickling over his eyes, under his fringes, and over either side of his face.

Uncertainty and hesitation burdening his shoulders, Bill experimentally swat his hand against the water to drench Dipper further.

Dipper fluttered his spiked, clumped eyelashes and shielded his face with one arm. “Quit it!” he exclaimed weakly between his happy hiccups, his free hand swiped back and encouraged his small chuckle to echo within the solitude of the area.

Bill regarded the antics with a snicker of his own and indulged the other with more splashes. He condensed the water into balls, offering half his share so Dipper could _try_ to hit him, and despite failing miserably in his onslaught, Dipper’s energy was far from discouraged, even if he was struck by Bill. Dipper, however, eventually stressed that they should return to land, and as he felt the earth on his hooves, he lowered himself to plant his hands on the grass and wiggled his hips like a canine to remove the excess moisture trapped in his pelt.

When he rose to his haunches, he nearly hopped in surprise to have the demon inspecting him so close, but said nothing until Bill rubbed his dampened gloves against the pinna of his ears, and softly rubbed against the fanged marks the vampire dealt yesterday as a skittish bat. The dull, and nearly forgotten pulsating pain in his lobe vanished under his gentle, healing ministrations, and he began to babble nervously when Bill paused to examine his ears for any overlooked bruises before leaning forward to inspect the other lobe.

Fingertips close, Dipper retreated a step, fighting the heat that flushed his cheeks with a nervous and unconvincing stammer, “I’m-I’m fine!”

“If you’re gonna lie, you might wanna bring it up a notch if you want to fool _anybody_ , Pine Tree,” he said offhandedly, “now spill it: which hand's the one that that pint-sized runt did a number on?”

Dipper’s reserved frowned deepened. As his heart thumped against his rib cage, he sunk his head between his shoulders and gazed intensely at his hooves to avoid Bill’s scrutiny. Dipper rubbed his hands against his vest, self-consciously wiping the layer of sweat warming his trembling fingers, and he held his breath as he rose his arm forward, offering his palm.

His breath hitched when the dampened, cotton-clad fingers pressed against his own. “You got real lucky, Pines, any closer and he would’ve ya real good,” Bill explained, anticipating a reaction as he pressed his thumb against the puncture. “My offer’s still up for grabs: say the word, and throw in a ‘Please’ while you’re at it, and I’ll give the kid nightmares that’ll leave him screaming for days.”

Tipping his head up, Dipper fretfully shook his head, and with an urgent fervency he says, “No! It’s okay, I’m fine, I’m fine! I…” Clamping his fingers around the demon’s wrist, his voice became small, “When I was with everyone in the morning, Gideon sorta mentioned you, and…and I guess that was, um, my fault. Stan got pretty mad when he did.”

Bill blinked once, processing the vulnerability in the boy’s voice.

“And Gideon! He doesn’t even seem to _remember_ you. I thought you would, I don’t know, alter his memories or something! But instead you wiped everything that happened clear from his head!” Dipper shook Bill’s arm, urging his response. “Can you tell me if there’s something going on for once? _Please._ ”

Bill, however, dispersed his power to seal the bite marks embedded into the fawn’s palm before jerking his wrist free from Dipper’s grasp. “You sure do like sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he expressed with a hint of annoyance, but entertained his ramble by snatching his black hovering hat and wringing the material like a dampened towel. “For starters, whether or not Stan has some old timely vendetta doesn’t matter one bit if I can’t remember a thing during that whole ‘being-trapped-in-a-dimension-of-nothing’ fiasco, so I couldn’t tell ya anything even if I wanted.” Bill loosened his hat from its coil and wiggled the crown to remove the pebbles lining the base. A handful of wadded papers fell out of his hat and tumbled onto the grass.

Dipper approached, collecting the littered scraps. “What about Gideon then? You haven’t messed with someone else's memory, have you?”

“Geez, Pine Tree, what is this? The Inquisition? Boy, those sure were fun times, though.” Grinning broadly, Bill situated his hat over his head. “Anyway, you’re a pretty smart kid. You should know it’ll be a whole lot better if he doesn’t have a clue who I am! I may have some unconventional methods up my sleeve, but you don’t see me adding fuel to the fire, ‘cause let me tell ya, that shrimp will go and round up his bloodsucking pals and hunt your family down if he caught whiff of last night.”

“You're probably right.” Crumpling up the balls of paper in his hands, Dipper pleaded for his honesty, “But have you done this to-”

“Hey, you’ve got some secrets, your sister’s got some secrets, and I might have a couple thousands; we’re all chock-full of ‘em! Information that big doesn’t come cheap, so unless you’re ready to wager something in exchange, this discussion is o-v-e-r.”

Defeated, Dipper yielded. “Fine,” he huffed, although his frustration was short-lived as he unraveled a crumpled paper from the clumped wad. Furrowing his eyebrows, he scanned the sheet and tried to decipher the stream of familiar calculations.

Two slippery appendages had appeared within his view. One tentacle swiped the collection of dampened, paper balls cradled in the nook of Dipper’s arm, and the other reclaimed the limp sheet of graph paper the boy was interpreting in his possession.

“Those are mine,” Bill affirmed, and stuffed the scraps into his hat. He recalled his tentacles into his wrist before taking long, hasty strides around the area to inspect trees. As he examined one that was particularly chipped, he slipped his fingers into the split of the trunk. “Y’know, kid, how’s about I show you something that you’ll get a real kicker outta?”

Ears shooting upward in interest, Dipper’s eyes lit up. “You will?”

“Free of charge this time, but don’t get too used to it.” Locking his shoulders, the trace of an elongated crack on the bark towered over Bill’s height as he pulled apart the wooden fibers. The formation of a portal expanded and filled the vacancy. Succeeding in recreating an interdimensional passageway, Bill glanced over his shoulder and warned, “Watch your step,” as he jumped through the portal.

Dipper searched his surroundings for any remaining presences before confidently puffing out his chest and hopping through the portal. He gasped aloud when the ripple through his plane of reality sealed behind him.

“Welcome back to the dreamscape, kid," he greeted, "Normally if you were sleeping, you’d have a tiny bit of reign 'round here, but since you’re _physically_ here in my dimension, I call the shots,” Bill explained and gestured for the boy to follow him.

“Uh, sure, I guess? You could’ve told me that before I jumped in. Just a thought, Bill.” He stole a glimpse of Bill’s clothes and then his own: they were dried, and his fur no longer bore the weight of excess moisture matting against his skin.

“Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve,” he digressed casually and motioned his hands to emphasize the mirrored sights. “If I’m not around in your underwhelming town, I’m here! Everything looks the same unless its imaging itself after a dream, but in this case, yours is lacking in the creativity department.” Ignoring the offended remark Dipper spouted, Bill conjured a row of staircases that extended to the branches of the non-invisible treehouse. “This part is different, to say least.”

His family and their extensions had materialized physically unaltered. Mabel was gushing over her movie with her friends and Stan was conning a pack of tourists. Feeling the gloomy emotions resettle in his gut, Dipper followed Bill close behind as they ascended the stairs.

Bill stepped aside, permitting Dipper to enter his ideal hideout first and allowing his interests to reignite his giddiness as he gawked at his possessions.

“Hey, everything is still marked!” Dipper chirped, inspecting the areas circled on his map.

The dream demon hummed, leisurely treading the creaky floorboards of the hideout and eyeing the world map. “You’re missing a few spots,” he said, then plucked a stray marker off the floor. Uncapping it, he rubbed the circles to erase their former spots and began to pinpoint other locations. “Here, here, here, and here was lost in recording, and they were pretty big ones too. This oversized, insignificant pebble always has some tremor going on that it can get tricky for you mortals to get them all written.”

Without breaking his gaze, Bill pointed to the telescope with his free hand, and expelled a bolt of electricity. “Take a look before you miss the show,” he informed, scrawling more locations on the world map.

Dipper trotted to the instrument, adjusting its angle to properly cast his gaze through the eyepiece and-

Bill was giving him an ethereal voyage through the galaxy. The minimal perspective of the cosmos that was projected on the fabric of Bill’s tailcoat was nothing compared to the view in the telescope. Interstellar whirlpools of gaseous clusters and webbed tendrils captivated his attention, and eagerly he rotated the rod of his telescope to immerse his view of the asteroids coming into focus.

Dipper redirected his gaze when he heard the clatter of dice tumbling against the floorboards, and when he whipped around, his expression deflated at the blank look Bill was directing to the board pieces scattered on the floor.

“What are you…Put that away, it’s…” His fingers clenched against the telescope’s star diagonal. “It’s a really lame game.”

Plopping himself on the floor and folding his legs, Bill propped the fold-ups of the antagonistic characters on their flimsy, cardboard stands. “Dunno ‘bout you, Pines, but I’m gonna have to disagree.”

Dipper withdrew from the telescope. “You’ve played Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons?” Perking the faintest of smiles, he settled himself across the board and idly weaved his fingers through his fur. “Nobody ever wants to play this with me,” he admitted, voice strained.

“‘Till now, kid.” Bill scooped the plastic figures that posed as their characters in their game, jiggled the pieces within in his palms, and then unfolded his fingers to reveal the altered figurines matching the Pines family in their mutated forms, while his piece was just a yellow triangle.

Entranced by the modification, Dipper settled across from the demon and observed Bill toying with his single figurine and displayed no indication of creating any additional unique characters beyond the game’s generic mini-bosses. “Are you sure you want to go solo?” Dipper asked, casting his eyes on the figures being placed on appropriate corners of the board. “You’re facing me, Mabel, _and_ Stan. It’s at least two characters per player.”

“Life’s a lot more entertaining when you go for broke,” Bill encouraged, then tinkered with his piece. “Maybe I’ll get one of you on my side after a few turns to level out the playing field.”

Snorting, the fawn shot back, “Yeah, right!” Leaning forward, he fished a stray thirty-eight sided die and withdrew. “Hey, um, I don’t have a dungeon planned, so if you want to roll first, I can work up something real quick.”

“Don’t sweat it, I got one in mind. You roll first - your mindscape, your go.” Leaving no room for Dipper to argue or insist on the effort to devise a game, Bill arranged the board and chuckled when the boy marvelled at the configuration of the dungeon. After Dipper rolled three times to calculate the stats of his characters, Bill rolled his die, and garnered the boy’s dismayed groaned for rolling a thirty-eight for his triangular piece.

Bill cleared his throat and narrated an event for them to play and seized his role in the board game as the primary villain: his dominion was guarded by the board game’s lone ogre and protected by the captivating prowess of an elf in the lower sanctums. Orchestrating the event, Bill impeded the Pines’ journey to the innermost level of the dungeon’s chamber by obstructing the figurine of Stan with the ogre, and Mabel with the elf’s attractiveness—Dipper huffed, “How did you roll a twenty-eight on an elven fixation spell? A one would’ve been enough to stop her!”—who were eventually thwarted. The ogre was conquered by an enhancement potion of strength and an adoration deflector spell had exceeded the number Bill had rolled, which allowed Mabel's figurine to progress.

Bill balanced his finger on his figurine, and proceeded to narrate the family’s conquest to lowest level of the dungeon to confront his character who possessed a vial that would cure their mutated forms—Dipper grew silent and meekly asked if he was hiding a cure, to which Bill blinked and replied with a slow shake of the head. Dipper trusted Bill's answer enough to sigh in relief—that would be claimed as theirs if he was defeated.

Dipper nodded sagely when Bill declared that his defeat can only be accomplished through any prime number that did not exceed seventeen, and when his rolls failed on Stan and Mabel, he broke into cold sweat as he planted his fingers on his deer figurine and hesitated.

Wobbling his triangular character in an impression of speaking, he arrogantly verbalized for his figurine, “What? Gonna throw in the towel already?”

Curling his lip, Dipper gathered his character into his fist and clenched his fingers shut. “I’m not sure if I want to roll,” he confessed solemnly.

“Don’t wanna be a sore loser, kid?”

“It’s not that,” he mulled, but rolled his die despite the pressure clenching his chest.

“Look alive, you got a thirteen!” Removing his finger from atop the figurine’s pointed angle, Bill leaned back casually and urged Dipper's next course of action with a theatrical lament. “Go on, do your worst! ‘Banish me,’” he said, utilizing the olden vernacular of the game.

Dipper’s expression brightened. “Spell of Compromise!” he declared. “No fighting, and nobody gets hurts! We come to some sort of terms and everyone wins!”

Unbeknownst to the cheery, childish atmosphere the boy was reeling in, Bill crushed the triangular piece in his hand reflexively and felt the grains slip past his palm. He feigned a neutral, broadened grin and entertained Dipper with a few rounds of Tiger Fist until the fawn rubbed his eyes and yawned in visible drowsiness before finally thanking Bill for playing Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons with him. Dipper trotted to the other side, settled at a corner, and curled up to rest.

Clapping his hands together to clear the remaining debris from figurine’s abrupt destruction, Bill abandoned the hideout and descended down the staircase. Every plank incinerated into dust behind him. When he grounded his shoes onto the terrain, Bill planted his trembling hand onto the side of his face, which was shaking uncontrollably while his lips sharply twitched downwards in an aggravated and hostile scowl. His free hand rummaged through the inner pockets of his coat to withdraw the soaked guidebook, which was bleeding ink from its gutter and tainting its yellowed pages black.

His pupil thinned and elongated at the manual he had memorized. The _same_ manual he had practiced on to grasp the context and coordination of the board game. He had _wasted_ his time notating on the margins and practicing his calculations for the graphing components of dungeon designing.

Storming through the gray-spectrumed forest, he halted to confirm the seclusion of the dreary grassland and chucked the guidebook to the ground. Lowering both his hands, which were enveloped in blue flames, he flicked his wrist and set the book in a roaring blaze. He then raised his free arm to expel a flash of blue flurries to the trunk of a tree, which burned illustriously in the dull surroundings.

His chest, rising and falling in his indignation, had leveled when the wildfire spread around him. His triangular head ceased its aggravated twitch and regained its ordinary, yellow flush.

His actions were like an undetectable compulsion, Bill acknowledged, and glowered at the ashes of the manual. Something had festered and ultimately sabotaged him, and he feared these lapses of altruism would become detrimental to his image. Demons do not, _would not,_ cater to the whims of inferior creatures, not even to a child who gazes at him with genuine admiration, who was thrilled when his presence presented an opportunity to expand his own understandings on the underlying mysteries of the town.

Bill’s eyelid moodily fell half-lidded. Snapping his fingers to clear the remnants of the forest fire, he barreled through the depths of the gray forest.

A few hours later, Bill sensed Dipper’s static dreams being roused by his awakened conscious. He channeled his vision beyond the dreamscape to watch Dipper stumble around, and as realization dawned over him, he took off to the lake and snatched his cold leftovers before weaving through the trees and hopping over some fallen tree boles. When he made it to the Shack, he amends with his sibling for not joining her by sharing the remains of his breakfast.

Bill sucked his teeth and dismissed the perception of the children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> until whenever next time is!! or more specifically when the semester dies down and i finally have enough self control to take a break from reading marvel comics ᕕ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ᕗ


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